


You Drive Me Crazy (but I'm gonna keep on loving you)

by SunlitGarden



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Alternate Universe - High School, Banter, Betty digs her nails in, Childhood Sweethearts to Enemies to Lovers, Divorced parents, Drive Me Crazy AU, Eventual Sex, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Jughead digs his heels in, Kevin Keller gives terrible advice, M/M, More like Dating With Purpose, POV Alternating, Preppy Betty Cooper, Reconciliation, School Dances, Troublemaker Jughead Jones, Veronica Lodge is a Good Friend, Veronica doesn't, but eventually they dig up the love, no one touches parts except Betty and Jughead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-05 10:00:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 50,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18826390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunlitGarden/pseuds/SunlitGarden
Summary: When Betty Cooper is thrown over for the dance she's been planning all semester, she decides to call her troublesome neighbor and middle school beau Jughead Jones to fill in to cover up both of their recent humiliations. They drive each other absolutely crazy, but that passion can be channeled into making amends. Loosely inspired by the film Drive Me Crazy





	1. You Drive Me Crazy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alisonrutherford](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alisonrutherford/gifts).



> Forewarning for those of you who have seen the movie (without spoiling it), things are quite different because so are the characters (duh). If you want to know how, message me or read away! You might not love Jug until ch2 or beyond but hopefully you'll enjoy this journey that sparked with @alicat-got-your-tongue sending me a never-ending barrage of Adrian Grenier gifs that had me swooning. So! For the love of Bughead and 90's nostalgia, let's get this started.

The splash of something inky permeates her white Keds, soaking into her socks. She gasps, jerking back.

 

_Motor oil._

 

“Jughead!” she grumbles, jaw clenched, fingers twitching. There’s no time to clean or bleach her shoes if she still wants to walk with Archie.

 

“Yes, Princess?”

 

She spins to face him. He’s still a bit foggy-eyed from whatever ridiculous trouble he’d gotten into the night before with his leather-bound friends. It’s crazy. She’s known him since she was a kid, loved and lost and loathed him, and she knows she should be wary of the Serpent insignia, of the switchblade he often hides in his boot she’s seen him take out at lunch to cut up fruit (which is _unsanitary_ on top of dangerous), but nothing can stop her from looking at his sleepy, stupidly pretty face and snapping, “Can’t you keep your mess contained to your own driveway?”

 

“It’s a puddle, Princess, made of the same stuff you mess with under the hood of those cars you love so much. What’s wrong with this one? Afraid it’ll stain that squeaky clean disposition of yours?”

 

“I don’t leave my mess out for anybody to get stuck in it. Just…look at my shoes,” she huffs, trying not to be overdramatic. “Now I have to walk to school with a soaking wet sock, too.”

 

_“_ Would you like me to carry you?” he muses, eyeing her outfit in a way that makes her feel prickly. There’s nothing wrong with lighter-colored skirts and blouses instead of plaid and black, of trying to look _nice_ instead of like she’s just rolled out of bed.

 

“ _No_.”

 

“Okay. Anything else?” He looks so damn calm and happy, taking a measured sip from his coffee canister. With some amount of chagrin, she notices it’s the same one she’d gotten him when they were thirteen. She’d spent almost fifteen minutes arguing with him about the effects of caffeine before he said, “I doubt it’s going to shorten my lifespan or anything, Betts.” They’d kept fighting until finally she gave up and got him one that could be used for hot or cold liquids and slapped a crown sticker on it so at least he’d be able to tell _his_ from other people’s.

 

She was so stupid back then, thinking it might make a difference. That he was a prince. _Her_ prince.

 

And he doesn’t even have the decency to sympathize.

 

“I’m late.”

 

Unmoved, he straddles his motorcycle. “Who’s the father?”

 

The bad joke and his general attitude thunders adrenaline through her veins. She looks up so as not to lash out. He’s always trying to get under her skin. His slightly wry sense of humor has twisted since he joined the Serpents. What used to be a sarcastic comment here or there has turned into a near-constant barbed fence around his heart. She misses him. The old him. But she also sort of hates him…this twisted, _non-Juggie_ that’s reared up in his place. The guy who pulls fire alarms and skips school and gets into stupid fights for little to no reason. He drags the not-nice parts of her to the surface without even trying. Or maybe he _is_ trying. She wouldn’t put it past this new version of him to purposely be a pain in the ass to get other people riled up. Her, specifically. Which shouldn’t be an honor, but...

 

Swallowing hard, she digs her nails in and spins on her heels to make her way down the street. Sure, his life was hard, but that shouldn't be an excuse to be an inconsiderate jerk the rest of his life. When Jughead’s mom left with his sister, his dad had turned to drinking and Jughead had started hiding himself away. Betty had held Jughead’s hand in the treehouse. They were so quiet, except when it felt _heavy_ and then she’d blabber on just to fill the silence with anything to take their minds off of it. Books. Movies. Cheerleading tryouts.

 

For a while, she sent him reassuring smiles and messages through their windows, but then more often than not, his curtains were closed. He’d snag the Tupperware out of her hands and ask what else she wanted, holding the door closed around him, even when she could smell pot on his clothes. She’d ask him to go to Pop’s where she’d shred napkins in anxiety. He barely even listened to her anymore, spent most of his time staring out of windows or writing things he didn’t want her to read or getting into trouble. It felt like he was trying not to lash out every time they hung out. Watching him get hauled off to the principal’s office for the umpteenth time, she finally just…stopped defending him. It was _exhausting_.

 

When she’d caught a glimpse of a bandage on his arm through the window, she hurried over to knock on his door.

 

“What? You spying on me now?” he’d scowled. “It’s a tattoo, Betty.”

 

“Of what?”

 

“Why are you even concerned all of a sudden?”

 

“Because…” she’d stuttered, crossing her arms over her chest, not sure what to do with the burning sensation working its way through her ribs. “You’re not even 18.”

 

“So?”

 

“So…that’s illegal, without consent of a parent or legal guardian.”

 

His jaw set hard, and he just _stood_ there, not looking her in the eye. “Dad signed off on it.”

 

“It’s still…permanent,” she said carefully.

 

”I’m not in the mood for one of your lectures, okay, Betty? I know you care about everyone’s opinion, but I don’t.” Before she could protest, he’d leaned forward like a snapping dragon. “And if you’re so upset about my life choices,  just go write about it in your fucking diary, okay? Because I'm _sick_ of hearing about it. This is _my_ life. How about you focus on your own perfect little fantasy for a change? All right? Because _I’m not part of it_. ”

 

Heat flooded her cheeks, nails digging into her palms. She’d turned around and never looked back, slamming her curtains shut any time she saw his stupid face for _weeks._ The chaos in her brain stilled when she saw the Serpent stitched on the back of his jacket and inked onto his skin. Some bizarre mix of shame and anger flashed across his face whenever he caught her turning away. But that’s what he wanted. She had her own marks, and her own family drama, and refused to let herself be any more hurt by investing in his.

 

They’d kept their heads down, neither talking except when schoolwork or proximity threw them together, and even then it bordered just on the edge of civil. She was polite and guarded and he lurked with studied moodiness reminiscent of his idol, James Dean. Sometimes he’d just _stare_ at her, mouth hidden behind his fist, like if he looked hard enough she’d be set aflame. After one particularly nasty fight on the accessibility of Holden Caulfield as a character, he wrote her an _essay_ on all the reasons she was the last person on earth who could understand him. The paper went stuffed into her bottom drawer and from then on she put her own fence up. A white picket one, from his perspective. He had his motorcycle gang and she had student council, and that was that.

 

There are happier things to focus on. The Centennial, for one. It’s been her huge months-long project for the student dance committee, and it’s going to be amazing. Magical, maybe. Especially if everything goes the way she’s hoping it will. Archie, the broad-shouldered quarterback is right on time, his all-American good looks just the brightening her morning needed.

 

“Hey, Betty! You think you have time for a song later?”

 

“Of course!”

 

She feels perky, almost bouncy as they make their way to school. As the grumbling motor of Jughead’s motorcycle zips by, she flinches, anticipating another puddle, the dull sheen of his leather dried out in the morning sun. All she gets is an extra rev in her honor at the stop sign and what might be a self-congratulatory smile from the idiot for making loud noises that other people happened to notice.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Yeah.” She tugs at the hem of her skirt. “Fine.”

 

Archie’s face twists like he’s not sure if he should say something.

 

“What?” she asks, her voice going just a little bit sticky. Archie’s a lot sweeter than people give him credit for. A lot smarter, too. She bets he can sense her disappointment about this morning, about Jughead.

 

“Um, you have something on your shoe.”

 

Betty’s mouth falls slightly open. “Oh! There was motor oil on the sidewalk. My neighbor—”

 

Shaking his head, Archie smiles out in front of them. “I still think it’s crazy you work on cars.”

 

“Crazy?” She scoops stray hairs behind her ears, eyes fixed on the sidewalk for any other obstacles.

 

“I mean, cool, I guess. It’s just weird. I don’t know any other girls who can work on cars.”

 

She’s not sure what else to say to that. “Yeah, well, my dad thought it was important to have a _skill,_ I guess.” His only expertise outside of cars was lying. Unfortunately, she’s picked up proficiency in both of those things out of pure survival instinct.

 

“Right. Yeah.” Archie clears his throat, chin tilted up. “Are you going to the Blossom party this weekend?”

 

It’s not really her scene, but she doesn’t want to look like a boring goody-two-shoes, either. “I’m not sure. Why?”

 

“I just think it’d be really cool if you came, that’s all.”

 

“All right. Maybe I will,” she grins, thoughts of motor oil washed away with the idea of the Blossom’s pristine pool. Feeling brave, she squeezes his arm goodbye when they part to head to class.

 

It’s much of the same, really. When she raises her hand, she catches Jughead’s mild shaking head in her peripheral.

 

_What?_ She wants to snap. The teacher must catch his attitude too because he calls on Jughead for the answer instead. Surprised, he sits up in his seat.

 

Betty waits expectantly. His essays seem fine, but in class, he’s certainly lost his gusto now that his friends egg him on to rile up the teachers instead of actually doing the homework. 

 

After stumbling through a half-assed SparkNotes version of the answer, Jughead sinks down into his chair. His Serpent friends poorly muffle their laughter, the one behind him pushing on his desk chair. Of course his girlfriend looks bored and he’s not looking at anything. She mouths something to Jughead that Betty can’t quite make out at this angle. Only his half-hearted smirk, the one that pulls at her veins and makes her want to toss something at him.

 

“Betty? Thoughts?” the teacher asks.

 

She answers something _actually_ insightful, turning to Jughead as the teacher praises her. He gnaws on his pen looking like he’d rather be sinking his teeth into her skin.

 

Toni mutters something under her breath that has the other Serpents snickering.

 

It shouldn’t sting after all this time, but it does.

 

Still, there are brighter things on the horizon.

 

Archie grins at her on the way to music class while she’s off to Advanced Chem. As he disappears in a sea of varsity jackets, she can’t help a happy little sigh.

 

“You two are totally endgame,” Kevin declares confidently, materializing at her side with an extraordinarily smug smirk. “Seriously. Your children will be beautiful and I will be the suave rich uncle every kid has dreamed of.”

 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

 

“I think you’ll be _very_ interested to know that our resident gorgeous quarterback approached me to inquire what you might say if he asked you to the Centennial dance.”

 

“ _What?”_ she shrieks, grabbing onto Kevin’s arm. “And what did you say?”

 

“Yes! Obviously!”

 

“Yes? Yes!”

 

Squealing, Betty throws her arms around Kevin’s neck and basks in the glee surging through her veins. Archie Andrews, the quarterback with the handsome smile and kind eyes was going to ask her on a date. Everything was coming together. The Centennial...the...date. All of it.

 

“Get a room,” Sweet Pea calls, practically shouldering them into the lockers.

 

Slouching as always, Jughead gestures for his leather-heads to move on with a jerk of his neck, his gaze straying down her sweater. “Don’t mind them, Pea. They just found out there’s a sale at the Gap.”

 

At least Joaquin has the good sense not to be a dick. He hangs behind, nervously glancing at Kevin, who straightens in defense.

 

“S-sorry, Preppy,” he manages, scurrying after his friends.

 

“Assholes.” Betty doesn’t care about her language when she’s around Kevin. Or Jughead, for that matter. She’ll swear up a storm in front of either of them without a second thought of their judgment with how it fits into her aesthetic. Kevin finds it a delightful contrast to what he calls her _angelic demeanor_ and Jughead will just say something pithy like, “ _I didn’t know ‘ass’ was in your vocabulary.”_

 

Attention hovering warily on the backside of the shorter Serpent, Kevin tries to keep them and the conversation moving. “Anyway, we _have_ to go to the Blossom party. I think that’s when Archie wants to ask you.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Liquid courage helps insecure people go after what they want. And Archie…wants to go to the Centennial with the student council hottie.”

 

“Stop,” she chides, pushing on his shoulder. Still, it’s nice to be _noticed_. Maybe she’ll finally be in a picture worthy of the Yearbook. Or her family mantle. Already planning her outfits in her head, Betty eagerly skips off to her next class.

 

~~~~~

 

The rhythm is catchy enough to make Jughead’s leg muscles twitch. The Wyrm’s a little _loud_ tonight, but the band is surprisingly decent.

 

He leans down on the table to brace himself for talking in Toni’s ear. “You wanna dance?” It’s not like he enjoys it, but sometimes she likes jumping around in the crowd, and they’ve been in kind of a _weird_ place lately. Not like they’ve ever been _comfy_ , given both of their slightly acerbic dispositions, but he figures he ought to be nice.

 

_Someone has to be nice in a relationship, right?_ He thinks.

 

She shoots him a look, eyebrows furrowed. “To _this_ mainstream bubblegum?”

 

“I dunno.” Dancing, to him, just means rocking from side to side with his hands on her hips or around her shoulders, listening to the song and _maybe_ having a good time?

 

She turns back to Sweet Pea and Peaches. “So, how much duct tape do you think we can get?”

 

“I dunno. I can filch some from the construction lot next week if you want.”

 

Girls in cat ears keep doing slightly ironic covers, so Jughead tunes out of the latest _protest_ situation and watches the band.

 

“Jughead? Hello?”

 

His body tenses at the sharp tone.

 

“I was asking if you still have Hot Dog’s collar.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“It’s something you could wear for the protest. Personal and proud.”

 

Squirming, Jughead recedes into himself. “Can’t I just wear my beanie? I already fought that battle.”

 

“Yeah, for _you_ , but what about the rest of us?”

 

“You think the student body wants to wear bondage gear?”

 

Toni’s glare indicates she’s not in the mood for his jokes.

 

“Look, I’m sorry, I just don’t get how duct tape over people’s mouths and nipples are going to get Weatherbee to change his mind on the dress code.”

 

“You don’t think it’s worth _trying_?”

 

“Yeah, maybe, with _logic_. Or research. Weatherbee loves academic papers that he can bring to his peers and summits. But showing up in stripper gear like we’re ready to do some porno probably isn’t going to change his mind.”

 

“Is that how you think I dress?” she demands, standing up to give him a better view.

 

_Kinda?_ doesn’t seem like the right answer.

 

He doesn’t really _care_ what Toni wears. Mesh crop top and a purple bra? Fine. Plaid and ripped jeans with a dirty tank top? Also fine. The possibility of _distraction_ Weatherbee cites as one of the reasons the student body should hide their underwear doesn’t really apply to him. He wears suspenders and plaid and thinks it’s stupid he has to wear a shirt to cover his pits lest sweat or hair be out in the open while in gym class they play shirts and skins. But he’s not really ready to shove his armpit in people’s faces and declare it’s his right to be a testosterone-reeking teenage boy.

 

“I think you look fine,” he offers, trying not to commit one way or another.

 

After a few tense seconds, she seems to make a decision. “Can we talk?” Neither Peaches nor Sweet Pea will meet his eye as he excuses himself to follow her to a quieter, darker corner of the lounge. His fingers seek out grounding on her back, but she folds her arms across her chest and turns to brush him away. Although his gut does a little swoop, he tries to bear it gracefully.

 

“What’s on your mind?”

 

“I don’t think you’re taking this seriously.”

 

“What, dress codes?”

 

“Anything!” Toni glances at the dance floor and back to him almost apologetically. “Look, Jughead, I need someone who can be passionate—”

 

“Are you saying _I’m_ not passionate?”

 

“You insist that we should keep watching a movie when I try to get close to you. You don’t even try.”

 

“Try what?” At her glare and raised eyebrow, he hunches his shoulders. “So I like cinema! That doesn’t mean I’m not passionate. In fact, I could argue that it means I _am_ passionate. About storytelling.”

 

Annoyed, she looks away. “When’s the last time you even wrote something for a cause? A decent exposé, an article, or when have you even worked on your novel? The only times I see you write it’s because it’s your _homework_.”

 

He flounders, not sure what to say. “Toni, come on.”

 

“I just…I think we want different things.”

 

It’s surreal. She won’t even meet his eyes and looks strangely grown up in the dark lighting of the lounge.

 

“No, you just don’t want _me_ ,” he mutters, shoving his hands in his pocket as his chest tightens in shame. She wants the _him_ that was riled up, that called out injustice and went swinging wildly when no one listened. Not the teen who’s realized the biggest injustice is that he was left behind to mop up his dad’s mess. Now that his dad has been sober for a while, things have been…better. _Ish_. Less vivid. Less volatile, at least.

 

“Can you honestly say you want me to stay? That you’d fight for me, for us? And I don’t mean as a Serpent, but as an actual couple.”

 

Shoulders wriggling in an attempt to rid himself of tension, Jughead’s not sure what to say.

 

_No_ seems cruel. But _yes_ would definitely be a lie.

 

He and Toni had never exactly been a hot-and-heavy couple, but even their camaraderie within the group has been _off_ lately. When Toni’d looked at star tattoos, she hadn’t exactly appreciated his rant on them being a stupid way to label herself according to some predetermined zodiac bullshit. Which it is. Not to mention a hideous tacky reminder of his absent mother.

 

But they were barely alone together, so it seemed superfluous to break up with her. It was fine. Things were _fine_ for the Serpents. But now that she’s initiated the breakup, who’s to say what new unpleasantries will boil up?

 

Uncomfortable in his silence, both of them shift their weight and gazes somewhere less awkward.

 

Her voice rumbles just above the music. “At this point, I feel like I don’t even know who you are. I just don’t want _this_ anymore. Whatever _this_ is,” she gestures, and he’s not sure if she means their quasi-relationship or him as a person.

 

“Wow. Okay. Way to knock a guy down a few pegs.” Air feels superfluous, as does he.

 

All she offers him is a tiny, possibly apologetic shrug. “It isn’t working. For either of us. Maybe I’ll see you at the demonstration, okay?” With one last look, Toni moves past him to rejoin their friends.

 

Jughead feels a swelling in his stomach and goes to the snack bar to see if he can afford to stuff a jumbo pretzel down his gullet to stop anything from spilling out. Probably not. Still, he’d rather stare at the menu he’s had memorized for six months than think about this.

 

_Not passionate enough._

 

_When’s the last time he wrote about something real?_

 

It sucks. Being dumped and insulted officially sucks.

 

And now he’s not even sure if he should hang out here or give the Serpents space. Give _her_ space. Are there custody battles in friend groups? Because if so, he’s almost sure he’s going to lose to the girl who’s known them longer and clearly takes more risks than he does.

 

People leave him. It’s what they do. And that’s fine.

 

It’s _fucking_ fine.

 

He’ll just write about it in all his metaphysical teenage angst.

 

He sighs and digs into his pocket to text the only level-headed person he knows.

 

**_JUGHEAD_ ** _: Hey, are you free? Kinda wanna catch your opinion on something._

 

**_JOAQUIN_ ** _: I’m working tonight as a DD for the Blossom party. Want to ride with me?_

 

Sighing, he considers his options. Watching a bunch of preppy idiots make fools of themselves while he hangs out with Joaquin is better than standing awkwardly in the crowd and listening to the Pussycats or stewing in his own failure.

 

**_JUGHEAD_ ** _: Pick me up?_

 

~~~

 

Betty sets her bare shoulders back, arm-in-arm with Kevin and feeling the weight of the world is _finally_ off her shoulders. The only details that haven’t been finalized are her ride and her date. Both of which may come together at the end of this evening.

 

Bracing herself, Betty pushes past the wave of heat that hits them the second they walk into the house and searches out the redhead prince of her Centennial dreams. Weirdly, though, he stiffens a little when he spots Betty and Kevin together. He knows Kevin’s gay, so she’s not sure why he slips outside.

 

“Should I go after him?”

 

“No. Make him chase you,” Kevin advises, already halfway through his first drink. “A woman should always maintain an air of mystery, of the chase.”

 

So she ignores the buzzing in her palms and her brain. Takes a drink when there’s still no sign of Archie in the hopes it’ll calm her nerves. Not wanting to get too toasted to enjoy her big moment, Betty reconnects with the newest addition to the Vixens, a transfer student she’d shown around a few weeks ago.

 

“How are you finding Riverdale High?” Betty shouts over the music.

 

“Great! Everyone’s really friendly.”

 

A crack grabs their attention. Sweating and foggy-eyed, Moose scrambles to stand up.

 

“Dude, you are _wasted_ ,” Reggie announces, like the split on the coffee table isn’t indication enough. Betty chews her lip, looking around for Kevin to make sure he’s okay.

 

There’s been a whole _will-they-or-won’t-they_ between him and Moose for what feels like months. But Moose only wants to hook up when he’s drunk, which isn’t healthy for anybody. Still, since Kevin’s got his new SlimShake body, he’s _really_ been appreciating the attention, even if he usually manages to resist being totally swept away by it.

 

“I’m glad _my_ date isn’t that sloppy. Total turn-off,” Veronica informs her primly, rolling her pearl necklace between plum-colored nails.

 

Pushing down the insecurity about how long it’s taken _her_ to secure a romantic interest in the same pool of peers, Betty tries to cheer for Veronica’s success. “You already have a date? That’s great! Who is it?”

 

“Archie? Andrews? He asked me to the Centennial, but…”

 

The world spins like a plate on a juggler’s nose.

 

Alarmed, Veronica pulls back. “What? Is he a total cad? You’d _have_ to tell me. It’s girl code.”

 

“I, um, can you give me a second?” Betty whispers, a wave of nausea swooping inside of her.

 

“Do you need me to hold back your hair?” Veronica sets down her own solo cup like she’s ready to party however they used to in New York.

 

Miserable, Betty tries not to resent the gorgeous, nice girl who swooped in and crushed her fantasy in fancy high-heel shoes. “No. I’m fine. I just need some air.”

 

There is not enough alcohol in the world to burn away the shame and panic eating her out from the inside.

 

Shots get involved. Two, exactly. The liquid burns like bleach down her throat and she grimaces, blotting her red lipstick on the back of her hand as if that’ll take away the taste of cheap vodka.

 

There’s no point in torturing _herself_ over a boy who broke his word. Well, kind of his word. His implication. Another idiot boy who thinks he can just brush her aside like yesterday’s news. So she stalks through the party until she finds Archie, whose chiseled face lights up in alarm the moment he sees her.

 

“Uh, hi Betty.”

 

All the sweetness she usually reserves for him turns acidic on her tongue. “I talked to Veronica.”

 

“Uh…”

 

“There are rules, Archie.”

 

His dark red eyebrows knit together. “Rules?”

 

“Unspoken… _rules_ about this kind of thing!”

 

“What rules?”

 

“Seniors rule!” Moose stumbles past with a big grin, attempting to hug Kevin, who starts from his position of onlooker to try and direct his pseudo-love-interest towards a wall for support.

 

Betty’s too incensed to worry about it. “Rules! Of human decency! You don't send Kevin to ask if I'll go to the dance with you if you don't plan on following through with the offer!”

 

“I was going to. I-I-I was going to. It's-It's just that…"

 

“Just _what?_ ” Her heart burns with all the things she’s not _enough_. Or maybe _too much._

 

Archie has the audacity to look helpless. “I don't know. I-I think I fell in love.”

 

Fairly certain she’s on the verge of a mental breakdown, Betty chokes on her outrage. That’s exactly the kind of thing her father would say. Almost exactly what he _did_ say, in fact.

 

Curling into himself, Archie looks like a giant meat sack with no brains or feelings outside of his own pants.

 

It takes significant effort not to crunch her red cup and throw it against his forehead. “In love?! She’s been here for all of two weeks!”

 

“It’s…I can’t help it. I don’t know how to explain. I still like you, but Ronnie—”

 

Throat tight, eyes stinging with indignant tears, Betty clenches her fist.

 

“…she was new, and we really hit it off, and so when we were talking about the dance, I just asked and—I don’t know. When I saw her, I saw our whole future. Everything. But maybe...I mean, if you’re upset, maybe we could all go together in a group-like thing?”

 

Inside, Cheryl Blossom and her cronies watch on with eager anticipation, giggling.

 

“No, Archie. I’d rather not,” she grits out, not wanting to ruin her palms, but her fist is aching with tension. Better to dig her nails in than cry here, though. She inhales deeply, looking away.

 

“Betty, I think it’s time to go,” Kevin insists, moving quickly to keep Moose’s attention and her tears at bay. “Jason arranged for designated drivers at the gate.”

 

She clenches her jaw and stares Archie down one last time. This…idiot All-American jock she smiled at and wore this sexy cranberry-color dress for and…why did she think doing anything for other people would turn out? As if planning prevents things from imploding. Like she could wear a color like _cranberry_ and be sexy, be desired. Be…worthy of being wanted.

 

“So...tonight did _not_ go as planned,” Kevin muses, smoothing his hair and dragging her away from glaring daggers at the confused, apologizing, trailing redhead.

 

“You know what? Love is stupid! The dance is stupid!”

 

“You don’t mean that.”

 

The little star magnets she’d used as place settings on her giant Centennial planning board dance in the back of her mind. The whole event might as well be swallowed by a black hole. Her parents’ fights are etched on the back of her brain. The former high school sweethearts, King and Queen of the school dance, and look how that turned out.

 

“No, I do. High school love is for saps. Prince Charming is a jerk. Bring on the frogs!”

 

She’s so riled up that she doesn’t notice when Kevin stops moving, so she stumbles forward, barely catching herself in time before sprawling on the Blossoms’ yard.

 

Annoyed, she looks over at what she anticipates to be their ride. But there are suspenders in view. Her gaze trails upwards, even though what she’s thinking is impossible because he never deigns to come to “preppy” parties. And yet…

 

Jughead offers her a bemused once-over and she must be _really_ drunk, because he even manages the tiniest of hops, squatting in front of her face.

 

“Ribbit.”

 

~~~

 

It’s hard to be _too_ depressed when Joaquin puts on his favorite radio station and Betty pouts at him in the rear-view mirror.

 

“Rough night, Princess?”

 

“Not now, Jughead,” she grumbles, crossing her arms and sniffling. “You being here just makes everything worse.”

 

_Oh yeah, I forgot,_ he thinks glumly, remembering the way she’d twist her napkin uncomfortably when they were kids, looking up at him with her big, desperate eyes and a nervous smile like unhappiness was a disease that needed to be avoided altogether. At least the Serpents let him be a raw, open wound instead of badgering him to death about taking care of himself and asking about the latest book he read and didn’t remember. They let him be angry and upset and destructive and didn’t freeze up or judge him with nervous stares and whispered worries that swelled to full-on arguments.

 

Life’s not perfect. He doesn’t know why she insists on pretending it could be and getting mad when it wasn’t. If she just took the stick out of her backside...

 

Kevin spares him a weary glance through the mirror before patting his friend on the shoulder. “Betty, it’s not that bad.”

 

“Cheryl and her posse probably caught the whole thing on tape and now Jughead’s just got more ammunition for why I’m a giant loser.”

 

He slouches in his seat, glancing at the music selection and trying not to let the way she says his name itch under his skin. Like _he’s_ the problem in her plastic life and not the fake idiots she surrounds herself with. “Why do you care what _I_ think?”

 

“Because you _always_ have something to say about me, even if it’s under your breath or straight to my face,” she huffs. _Does he_ , he wonders? It’s not like he _actively_ thinks about her. Just...if she happens to be around, he notices. “And tomorrow, _normal people_ will be gossiping about how Betty Cooper is such a busybody that she can’t even get a date to the dance she spent all semester planning.”

 

Her buddy loosens the buttons on his shirt. “I can set you up, you know. Or I could be your date if you needed me to be.”

 

“Oh, Kev.” Betty drops her forehead into his shoulder with fond if miserable enthusiasm. “You’re amazing. But I don’t want a _pity_ date. You worked hard on yourself so you could go with some hot guy and be the talk of the town for a different reason than being forced to go with me because Archie threw me over for Veronica.”

 

The lonely hearts club grows bigger, Jughead supposes, a twitch in his stomach indicating either he’s hungry or having sympathy pains. “Guy sounds like a dick.” He closes his eyes, already anticipating a tirade for his slip. _You’re a dick too, Jughead. At least Archie doesn’t ruin her sneakers. And he probably never slammed a proverbial and literal door in her face._

 

To his annoyance, she _still_ doesn’t say anything about it. Ignores something ugly, like him, like the Archie situation, but when he prepares something else to say, Betty’s face is squished into her friend’s shoulder in disappointment. It’s almost sweet. Reminds him of when they used to cuddle at the drive-in or treehouse after a big blowout with their parents. When things were too bad to talk about them, but just right enough between him and her to find comfort in each other’s presence. But he still wishes she’d just lash out sometimes, even if he’s losing his nerve to push her there. This is the closest he’s seen her get to it in a while.

 

“Okay, what _do_ you want?” Kevin asks.

 

“I don’t know. Revenge? Aspirin? Ice cream? I should drink some water.”

 

Jughead chuckles despite himself because a lot of her urges are the same from when someone would accidentally roughhouse too much when they were kids. She’d get all pink-faced or teary-eyed and either push back, fix herself up, or get a sweet treat to share with him to make herself feel better. It’s a miracle they both didn’t weigh a hundred pounds, although he suspects interference from Mrs. Cooper might have something to do with that. Jughead likes to think he pushed away or protected Betty from some of the bigger jerks, but that probably didn’t do her any favors in the long run. The girl avoids confrontation like it’s a disease. Unless it’s with him. If he instigates it, anyway. Maybe he’s good practice for her.

 

Although probably not, based on the way she fawned all over him when he just wanted some fucking room to breathe in his misery. Then, when that didn’t work, she just receded inside that _everything’s fine_ shell her parents had always so carefully helped her paint and ignored what she didn’t like, picked at the things he did invest in.

 

They didn’t fit into each other’s lives anymore. He could see it. She could see it. So why did he have to basically slam the door in her face for her to get that if she wanted to be around someone who was her version of perfect all the time, she’d have to find them somewhere other than the house next door?

 

He'd been strangely disappointed when she didn't reappear at his door with brownies, begging him to reconsider. Had even considered bringing over some to her, instead, but the way she glared and avoided him, he lost his nerve and stuck to the new friends he'd made. Especially when he saw how determined she was to move on from him. From _them_.

 

It’s all kind of stupid when he looks back on it now.

 

Maybe that’s just part of growing up.

 

At Joaquin’s questioning gaze, he looks down and fidgets with his suspenders. “You can drop me off with Betty. Thanks for the talk tonight. I appreciate it.”

 

“Yeah. Anytime. Maybe…you should start writing down your thoughts again. You never know what good will come of it.” Joaquin’s soft smile makes him feel a little bit better. The obvious eavesdropping and calculated stares from the back seat do not.

 

“Thanks for the in-transit entertainment, Betts.”

 

Sighing, she turns up her face towards Kevin. “Are we sure we like boys?”

 

This time it’s Joaquin’s turn to chuckle inappropriately. The exchanged glances between him and Keller in the rearview mirror don’t go unnoticed by the rest of their party.

 

“Come on, I’ve got you.” Jughead helps Betty out of the car as he trades places with Kevin, who climbs into the front seat with a certain air of forced dignity. Betty’s arms are covered in goosebumps, but she’s actually pretty warm. Whatever perfect hairdo she’d done for tonight is swooshed around, even her crimson-y party dress a little rumpled from exertion. “You think you can make it to your door?”

 

“The door, yes. The dance, no. No, Betty. No dances or dating for Betty Cooper. Just planning away, only for it all to take off and fall apart. Not that you’d care. You’d probably just spike the punch and step on my dress. Say I had to lose a shoe by midnight or something.”

 

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. She can’t stop _pushing_ sometimes, not unless that stupid jock was rambling on about something. Then she’d probably absorb _every single word_.

 

“Hope you enjoy those drinks the second time around.”

 

“I’m not _wasted_ , I’m sad.”

 

“I’m sorry, Prin—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. It’s not like making her more miserable will do either of them a favor, and she doesn’t look depressed so much as frustrated, cheeks pink and scowl etched deep. He tries to pat her back where he remembers she liked being rubbed, hoping to loosen her anger. “You might feel better in the morning. After you feel worse,” he smirks. Her eyes scan him, guarded. “Drink lots of water. Oh, and eat some croutons, if you have any. Helps absorb the alcohol.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

A twinge of something plucks at his chest when she wipes her hand on her mouth, smearing her red lipstick. It’s not often her color. But seeing it stained on her hand and reframing her mouth makes him wonder how she feels. How she’s changed since they were in middle school and pushing their wet lips together just to quell their curiosity and raging hormones.

 

But that passion’s dried up, apparently. Or transferred to something else.

 

With one last half-mocking wave, he goes inside, but the image of Betty in her red dress stays with him, juxtaposed with the bright-eyed girl who was a little worried because she had braces and calluses on the inside of her lips and thought no one would want to kiss her. Nobody except for him. Her best friend.

 

Her best. _Fucking_. Friend.

 

And look how that turned out. Probably happier in her fantasy world without him, anyway, since she actually stopped reaching out to the “lost cause.” He’s not really a guy worth coming back for.

 

Spreading out on his bed, Jughead clicks open his laptop and starts a fresh document. Joaquin said it might help to write. So maybe he will.

 

Pages and what feels like hours later, his ringtone blaring interrupts his thoughts.

 

The truck in the driveway indicated FP hadn’t gone out tonight, but maybe he’d walked or taken the bike. “Where are you?” Jughead frowns, rubbing his face.

 

“My bedroom,” a feminine voice greets on the other line. “Why?”

 

“Betty?”

 

“Don’t you read your caller ID?”

 

“How do you even have this number?”

 

“I remembered it.”

 

Confused, he turns around and peeks out through his curtain to see a half-dressed Betty Cooper holding her cell phone across the way. Well, if not half-dressed, certainly not _dressed-dressed._

 

“What are you doing up this late?” he asks, glancing at his laptop screen. “Shouldn’t you be passed out after a long bout of partying?”

 

“I’ve been up. Thinking about things. About us.”

 

Ice cold panic starts climbing up his veins. Did she feel it too? The nostalgia and...whatever else? “What do you mean ‘us?’”

 

“Not in like…a creepy fantasy way or anything.” Across the yard, he can make out the way she turns from the window, a little shy, even in her slightly drunken state.

 

“In a ‘set me on fire in my sleep’ kinda way?”

 

“No,” she chuckles, clearly exhausted yet still somehow determined. It’s a more down-to-earth version of _project mode_ voice, the one she uses when she’s trying to recruit people to volunteer for some committee or another. “I was wondering if you’d take me to the Centennial.”

 

A frost gathers under his skin. Maybe he’s been abducted. Maybe he’s dreaming. Maybe…

 

“I know you don’t care about the dance and I know you probably don’t care about me, but I was thinking that maybe we could help each other.”

 

“How would we _possibly_ help one another?”

 

“Kevin told me about Toni.”

 

Stunned, Jughead turns away from the window. Joaquin wouldn’t have told Kevin about it. Serpent Law prohibits it, as does bro code. Whatever rule of society, Joaquin wasn’t going to break it for the sake of chatting up Kevin Keller, even if he had lost a ton of weight since middle school and was considered one of the most eligible gay guys in the county. Toni isn’t much for airing her dirty laundry either, which means that people at the lounge saw or heard or…

 

“I’m sorry that she…well, I’m sorry about what she said.”

 

_But not sorry she broke up with me?_

 

“People suck. A lot,” she says, the slight slur of her tone migrating somewhere along the line of sympathy but maybe actually more rooted in annoyance. “They say mean things and treat you like dirt and cast you aside for stupid, selfish reasons, and it _sucks_.”

 

“Yeah.” He frowns at her across the window, trying to understand what she’s getting at.

 

She lets out a big sigh. Whatever she drank and the events of the night have her worked up into a frenzy, her free arm waving around as she talks. “Both of us were kind of publicly humiliated last night. And I know you don’t typically care about your reputation, but as a writer, I know how much it sucks to be told that you’re not passionate enough.”

 

Shoulders tensing, he leans on the window frame, half-expecting it to sag and give in to his waste of a body. “Thanks.”

 

“What I’m saying is, I could help you. If you take me to the dance, I can be your editor. Or writing coach, or whatever. You can bounce ideas off of me like when we were kids. I tutor in the writing lab and also…”

 

She takes a deep breath, and whatever it is she wants to say is difficult enough that he actually goes back to squint at her through their respective window panes to try and figure it out.

 

“And…?”

 

“I could help you…with the passionate thing too.” He stares at her, the way she opens her window, leaning on her elbows to give him a view of the tops of her breasts.

 

His mouth feels _wet_. But he also feels a little horrified.

 

“Are you saying you’d trade sex and editing for a date to the dance?”

 

“Not…exactly. I’m saying I want to _sell_ the whole ‘dating’ thing so I don’t feel like a loser who had to barter for an escort. So there could be kissing and maybe other stuff if we wanted there to be and you weren’t a total jerk about it. It’s been a while since I’ve had someone to kiss, and it wouldn’t be a total stretch doing that kind of stuff with _you_. Plus, people might not be as shocked if we hooked up with each other, considering we already have a romantic--well, a history. I mean, it _would_ show Toni how passionate you could be. With a girl. If she’s not willing to read your pages. You know?” Betty tilts her head, hair drooping to one side.

 

He tries to cling to a thread of sanity before he does something stupid. “Okay, but why me? You know I hate dances and we barely deign to speak to one another. Plus, according to Toni, I’m not even that great of a date.”

 

“Well,” she huffs, pulling back from the window. “I don’t know. There are a lot of reasons. Who else would pseudo-date me?”

 

Scoffing, he scratches three names off the top of his head and picks _one_. “People want to date you. Trev Brown practically doodles your name on his notebooks.”

 

“I can’t imagine faking being sweet to someone like Trev when I’m mad about Archie and stressed out about the dance.”

 

“But you can be mean to me?”

 

“Not _mean_ ,” she clarifies. And it’s true, she’s rarely if ever, _mean_. “ _Honest_. I can be tired, or grumpy, or…anything, really. Besides caring, apparently.”

 

“You mean _meddling_ , which you’re doing again now, by the way.”

 

Brows furrowed, he tries to read her expression, but she’s receded too far into her bedroom for him to see.

 

“Neither of us would have to worry about leading the other on, or if they were having a good time or telling their friends about stuff. You’d tell me if I was annoying or you liked someone else instead of just running off, right? So I’m taking a back seat on the sweet, sensitive Betty routine and doing what I want. No more waiting around. No more luring in Prince Charming. I looked through the yearbook for potential dates and I wanted to call you, my old friend, who probably needs me too. So? What do you say?”

 

_I wanted to call you…_

 

_My old friend…_

 

_You need me, too…_

 

This all still seems beyond bizarre.

 

“You’re drunk,” he worries under a mask of derision.

 

“I’m desperate,” she pleads, leaning out the window again. He doesn’t know _how_ , at this hour, but something catches the light in her eyes. Those big pleading eyes that have been the bane of his existence for years. Or maybe it’s her mouth, which is still blooming red from her lipstick.

 

A tangled warbling mess of something wriggles in his chest. Mouth open, he’s not sure what to say.

 

She raises her eyebrows hopefully. “Sleep on it?”

 

“Yeah,” he says, surprising both of them before he hangs up. This could be a total disaster. Would be. Because she kind of hates him, right? Chewing his lip, he tries to mull it over in his head, all the ways this is insane and wrong and yet exactly what he’d presumed would happen in high school. That he’d go to a dance, _any_ dance with his neighbor and best friend and sometimes sweetheart Betty Cooper. But he stuck to troublemaking and she was determined to stay out of it except for her never-ending judgment parade and yet here they are, talking across their windows again. It doesn’t make sense. He looks to his screen for help. A clue. He decides to write about it, sort out exactly how passionate things could and should be.


	2. All coiled up

 

A tapping noise wakes her up. Maybe it’s to the tune of _Enter Sandman,_ but she’s too sleepy to be sure.

 

Annoyed, she pushes back the covers and investigates. For some still-half-asleep reason, she wonders if it’s Archie coming over to apologize, which is why she nearly has a heart attack when she pulls back her curtain to reveal Jughead Jones.

 

Her gasp is so loud that she’s afraid she’ll alert her mother. Scrambling to lock her bedroom door, Betty returns to the window to let him in.

 

“Change your mind, Betts?” he teases a bit nervously, one gangly leg following another.

 

“No, I just wasn’t expecting you to show up on my awning. You could’ve called. Or rang the doorbell.”

 

“I figured this kind of reunion called for something dramatic.” She smiles, trying not to let herself get _too_ hopeful, especially since he’s not totally meeting her gaze. “Besides, Alice Cooper probably still hates my guts, even if she does _deign_ to talk to my father again.”

 

She doesn’t want to talk about their parents, especially since she’s pretty sure she’s heard them passive-aggressively flirting on the neighbor divide, so she pulls the hem of her sleep top and regards Jughead with a reserved, hopefully persuasive smile. “So? What are you thinking, Jug? Willing to strap on those suspenders and take me to the dance?”

 

Whatever confidence he seemed to walk in with gets shoved into his pockets along with his hands, a light dusting of color rising on his cheeks. “I think we should have rules first.”

 

Apparently biting her tongue doesn’t hide her amusement, because he looks the slightest bit defensive.

 

“What?”

 

“You want to _make_ rules? I thought you only wanted to break them,” she teases, self-consciously running her fingers through her messy bed hair.

 

“I’m not a _barbarian_ , Betty, even if I have certain rogue-ish tendencies.”

 

Rolling her eyes, she moves to her attached bathroom, watching him follow behind her in the vanity with a subtle fascination. “As long as you don’t claim to be a knight in shining armor, we’ll be fine. What kind of rules are you thinking?” The soft, constant tug of the of brush bristles through her hair grounds her for the conversation.

 

“Firstly, I’d like to establish that I don’t intend on acting like Archie or any of those idiots you’ve liked the last couple of years.” 

 

“All the better. That’s kind of why I chose you in the first place.”

 

Narrowing his gaze on her, he counts off number two. “No passive-aggressive comments about the Serpents or how I spend my free time.”

 

“Okay, how about you don’t do anything that could get you into trouble?” Her heart thumps aggressively in her chest. “There’s no point in us building up this whole thing if you can’t even go to the dance because you're suspended or hurt.”

 

He gives her a long-suffering look that almost makes her feel like she’s nagging him with the simple request not to get kicked out of school. “I’ll try to restrain myself.”

 

“Okay.” _That’s something_ , she thinks. Definitely something someone who was saying yes would do. “What else?”

 

“I wanted to show you some of what I wrote last night. To see if we’re compatible in this relationship,” he clarifies. “My style’s changed in the last couple of years, so I’m not sure if you’ll still like it.”

 

“Okay. Give me a second and I’ll take a look.” She pries the gathered hair from her brush and sprinkles it into her wastebasket, eager to take her first test.

 

As she gears up to brush her teeth, Jughead quirks an eyebrow at her. “What are you doing?”

 

“Aren’t we going to your house?”

 

“Um, no, I printed a few pages for here. Did you seriously think you had to brush your teeth just to go next door?”

 

“Why wouldn’t I?” she questions, confused by the way his lip twitches, eyes slanted in judgment.

 

“It’s not like you need to impress me. You’re so…”

 

“Thoughtful? For wanting to talk to people without knocking them over with my morning breath?”

 

“Are you trying to say something about my personal hygiene?”

 

“If we’re going to be…dating for the next month, one of the rules should be that you make an effort to be extra clean.” With prim dedication, she rotates the brush along her teeth.

 

“Am I supposed to start now?” he teases, crowding her towards the sink.

 

“I have a spare toothbrush somewhere,” she mumbles through foam, edging him out of the way with her hip.

 

“You know, if we’re fake-dating, we’re probably going to be sharing mouth germs.”

 

Exasperated, she gargles and spits into the sink, twisting the knob to wash the foam away. Her mom will probably be suspicious if there’s a spare toothbrush in her bathroom. “Fine.” Twisting her elbow, she offers her toothbrush to him. When he stares between her and it with a bemused expression on his face, she sighs, shifting her weight. “What?”

 

“You’re serious about this.”

 

“Yes, I’m serious about this. And we won’t be _fake-_ dating, by the way. We’ll be…dating. Just…more honestly. With the expectation that after the dance, we’ll probably go our separate ways.”

 

“Probably?” he questions, sticking the toothbrush in so deeply that it bulges out his cheeks.

 

“Okay, definitely.” Folding her arms, she rests her butt against the vanity, eyeing him over.

 

He’s not bad-looking at all. Scruffy, sure, but even though he’s always drinking coffee or eating chips, his teeth are fairly straight and white in a way that’s unfairly natural. No braces or whitening strips for the Jones kids. Good genes, she supposes, in some ways more than others. Even if it’s hidden under his hat, he’s always had rather thick, pretty hair that sometimes curls in front of those distractingly long eyelashes and sea-blue eyes. His stomach isn’t ridged in a six-pack like Archie’s, but it doesn’t pooch out, either. There’s nothing _square_ about Jughead Jones. Never has been.

 

“Are you checking me out?”

 

“Just…looking,” she shrugs, trying not to feel embarrassed.

 

“I’m not a stud service, Betty. I have _feelings_ ,” he preens, dramatically hocking a loogie just to break the mood.

 

“We’ll see about that. Let’s take a look at your writing.”

 

With a patient, expectant look on his face, Jughead tugs some folded paper out of his back pocket and hands it to her. Sliding past him in tight quarters on her way to the bedroom makes her feel…weird. Even though he’s kind of an ass, he did still help her to the door last night. Held her up so she didn’t fall flat on her face (not that she was _that_ drunk, but still). Maybe this will be good for her. To date someone who doesn’t really like her but gives enough of a crap to want her safe. Or maybe they’ll just learn to interact again without that itchy feeling under her skin.

 

As she gets situated in her desk chair, Jughead wanders around, pausing to look at her photos on the wall. To her chagrin, she realizes there are still some pictures up there of them together when they were kids.

 

“You can sit on my bed,” she gestures, uncapping her red pen, urging him along.

 

Although his eyes flash gray at what she assumes is authoritative direction, he crawls on his hands and knees until he’s propped up against the pillows by her headboard. “You still sleep with Caramel?” The plaid shirt around his waist is basically a blanket beneath him as he pulls her stuffed cat into his arms and strokes it, first tenderly, and then like an evil Bond villain.

 

Annoyed, she grips her pen a little harder. “ _Yes_.”

 

“So the good-girl thing isn’t just an aesthetic?”

 

“Bad girls can have stuffed animals. And that’s an arbitrary expectation anyway. Just…do you want me to read this or not?”

 

“Fair argument. Read, please,” he gestures, tucking Caramel into his side. “I still have that stuffed dog Dad gave me.”

 

“Hot Dog the first?”

 

“Yeah.” He squirms a little.

 

“That’s sweet.”

 

“So’s Caramel.” His mouth slants uncomfortably in what she thinks would be a smile, if he let it be.

 

They’re quiet as she marks up the page. Little flicks of the felt-tipped pen make her feel more in control. Even if she’s in her pajamas. Even if Jughead Jones has her precious stuffed cat in his arms and her reputation in his hands.

 

“Here,” she says, holding it out to him when she’s done.

 

“Should I take the maiming personally?”

 

“You needed some edits. There are several places you used passive voice. Your semicolons are out of control and…the mood is evocative, but the characters are vague. They need grounding and differentiation enough that if you took away their names we’d still know who was talking.”

 

“Wow.” Shaking his head, he stares at the page, reading her comments, good and bad, in the margins. She squirms when she thinks he sees the smiley face she left there. It’d been an instinct. To soothe the wounds, but also she appreciated the passage.

 

“I’ll be honest, but I won’t be cruel. I’m dedicated to doing my job well, and I can help you—”

 

Expression softening, he looks up at her, the hollows under his eyes even more pronounced than usual. “Betty. I know.”

 

Nodding primly, she lets her hands skim down her thighs and grip her knees.

 

It’s weird to _hear_ him swallow. “In the interest of being _honest_ with one another, I might be…writing about you. A little bit.”

 

Tensing, she tries not to falter. “About _this_?”

 

“No, just…practice writing. Like seeing you all riled up last night.”

 

She crosses her arms over her chest and frowns at him. “You’ve seen me riled up often enough. What was so special about last night?”

 

“I don’t know. You wore red,” he says simply, crinkling the paper in his hands.

 

“And?”

 

“You don’t typically wear red.”

 

Squirming, she looks around the room at her photos throughout the years. It’s true that she typically goes for pastels, but it makes her feel weird that he _noticed_ she wore red.

 

“Did you like it?”

 

“Did you?”

 

The dress in question ( _or is it the lipstick_ , she wonders) hangs draped over the back of her chair.

 

“Should I read it? Whatever you wrote about me?” she asks, feeling heat bloom under her skin, especially her neck. “I mean, can I?”

 

“You’re really worried about what people think of you, huh?” She stiffens, nails digging into her knees.

 

“I think anybody would be curious what someone else has to write about them. It’s not a passing thought. It’s an investment in a person’s perceived character.”

 

“Maybe,” he says carefully, thumbs smoothing out the pages. “If I finish it, I’ll show it to you. It’s nothing you haven’t heard me say before, albeit less eloquently.”

 

“Nothing complimentary then,” she supposes.

 

“I wouldn’t say that.” The reluctant sincerity in his voice pulls on her like a forced hug. He clears his throat to break the tension. “Nothing like your vibrantly-worded diary entries featuring a certain Serpent sweetheart, I’m sure.”

 

Heat creeps up her neck and shoulders. He’s _still_ trying to get to her, even amidst what’s basically a trade. She’d _never_ show him the diary entries bemoaning her broken heart or the more recent ones detailing her frustration that she can’t seem to escape his bark and still aches from his bite. Yet she’s throwing herself in his path again. It’s probably a bad idea, but at least this time she knows what to expect. “So. Do we have an agreement? You keep the sad gossip train off my back and take me to the dance and I help you with your novel and rekindle your passion?”

 

Jughead throws her an incredulous look. “I _have_ passion.”

 

“Yeah, for Crunchy Puffs. I mean, really, do we have a deal?”

 

Teasing swept aside, Jughead takes a deep breath. “Yes.” As her insides light up, he shifts into that bemused, self-satisfied smirk. “It’s a date.”

 

Relief floods over her so quickly that she claps her hands together, almost a _cheer_ pose from back in the day.

 

Jughead shakes his head, grinning to himself. “You are such a cliché.”

 

“Excuse me? Coming from the James Dean impersonator?”

 

Rolling his eyes, Jughead scoots forward on the bedspread and she realizes that he still hasn’t taken off his combat boots. Her bedspread looks fine, but she wants to inspect it for motor oil or dirt nonetheless. “So what exactly does this _passion_ entail?”

 

“Um, we pretend to be super enamored of each other in public and genial in private? We could go to Pop’s, or even the Wyrm if you want to impress Toni or get the Serpents potential sad gossip off your back.”

 

He rolls his eyes. “What about Archie?”

 

“What about him?” she bristles, closing the window.

 

“Are you still into him?”

 

“Were you not there for the social reaming of my life?” When his expression remains unmoved, she tries to make it plain. “No. I am not still into Archie ‘skirt-chaser’ Andrews.”

 

Plucking Caramel’s ear, Jughead avoids her gaze. “What if he gets jealous?”

 

“All the better. Let him feel an ounce of the ickiness I did,” she huffs. “I’m not opposed to a little good old-fashioned retribution. But this—us,” she gestures, feeling _weird_ that there _is_ an _us_ again, “is for me.” His lips part, brows furrowing in question. Before he can say anything, she turns to the wardrobe. “Do you want breakfast?”

 

Faltering, he seems to watch her before returning to his offhanded comments. “I could eat.”

 

“Great. I’ll just get dressed and we can go downstairs. Or you can climb back out the window and go around the front so I can let you in and—”

 

“Betty?” he starts, scooting forward until his legs splay open on the edge of the mattress.

 

It’s the first time in a _long_ time he’s been on her bed. And now they’re older.

 

As he stands, she has to tilt her head back, fully aware of their height difference, of the way the air gets thinner as he pulls at his pockets. They’re not climbing, but it still feels harder to breathe.

 

“I don’t know a _normal_ way to say this, but we should probably kiss.”

 

“What?” she tenses, taking a step back. Her heart’s loud and obscene, pulsing in her ears. “Right now?”

 

“Unless you’d rather have our first make-out session on the school grounds right in front of Archie’s locker?” he teases, and she can practically _see_ the obnoxious thoughts lurking in that twisted brain of his.

 

“Fine. Let’s kiss. And it’s not our first.”

 

Neither of them have really brought up their forays into romance when they were six. Or ten. Or even in middle school, when they were at the skatepark. Or the treehouse. Or watching movies and it just...happened. But they were kids then, so she supposes it doesn’t count. His dark eyelashes would flutter so temptingly, gaze fixed on her lips, and she’d practically hold her breath waiting for him. For _it_. When they kissed, it was always a little messy, but good. As good as it could be. Sometimes she’d even wrap her hands in his flannel, revel in the way she thought she could feel his rapid pulse against her knuckles.

 

“Our new first,” he corrects, one large hand splayed along her waist, the other curled just under her jaw. It’s bizarre being this close to him again. Her heart thuds in protest, lips rolling inward. He watches her, something akin to amusement dancing behind his eyes as he drifts closer. The buildup is going to give her a heart attack.

 

“Oh my gosh, it doesn’t have to be a big deal,” she mutters, more to herself than to him, and pushes up on her toes to press her lips to his. She thinks she can feel his smile twitching just under that smirk. Annoyed, she puts more effort into it, grabbing his shirt insistently and moving her mouth around a little to smudge out that smirk and hopefully take his breath away.

 

It’s not like she’s done this a _lot_. But she reads. Watches. She’s seen hideous things at the parties Kevin occasionally drags her to. 

 

A few, brief follow-up kisses later, she falls back onto the soles of her feet, resisting the urge to press her lips together just for the pressure.

 

But that _infuriating_ smirk rears up again. It’s growing by the second.

 

“I’m glad we brushed our teeth.”

 

“So? What do you think?”

 

“Could use more passion,” he muses playfully.

 

Trying not to scoff in his face, she pushes on his chest. “Come on, Jim Stark, let’s have breakfast and go over the details.”

 

His eyes light up behind that cage of detached amusement he keeps everything in. “You remember?”

 

“ _Rebel Without a Cause_? How could I forget?”

 

He’s practically living the mantra. And now, maybe, so is she.

 

~~~

 

He’s still willing himself to face the music at school, leaned against his bike, when Betty emerges from her house, dutifully dressed in her pressed little skirt and untucked blouse, just like when she was trying to impress Archie. Except today her skirt is raspberry pink.

 

“Where are you going, Princess?”

 

Betty tenses, glancing up the adjacent driveway. It’s sort of comforting to watch her squirm. Always has been. Back in middle school, he’d dangle worms and she’d swat at him to put them back where they belonged. He’d purposely chew with his mouth open to let crumbs or candies fall around them, then ask if she wanted any. “You’re weird,” she’d laugh. Until she wasn’t laughing, and he wasn’t either. Maybe he stopped trying. Maybe he hasn’t. He’s still not sure, but it makes _him_ feel better to get a reaction from her other than that blank, bright smile she gives to everyone else.

 

His psych homework would probably claim he’s just looking for attention.

 

_Whatever_ , he thinks, gesturing to her with his chin. “Did you dress up for _me_?”

 

“No,” she bristles, tugging at her skirt. “I just figured if people are going to be talking about me today, there ought to be a few compliments thrown in.”

 

He pretends to understand, nodding in confusion. “All right. Well.” They both frown, looking down the block, where they know Archie will inevitably run into her on the walk to school unless he’d avoid her for his own shameful reasons. “Why don’t I give you a ride?”

 

“What?” Her hand fidgets with some imaginary stray hair behind her ear.

 

“Would you rather walk and risk running into Archie?”

 

“No, but…” She glances nervously from her house to his bike, tightening her hold on her bag. “I’m wearing a skirt.”

 

“So _change_.”

 

“I don’t have time _._ ”

 

“If Alice hadn’t drilled it out of you, I’d _almost_ say you were whining,” he needles, taking a pointed sip of his coffee mug. The crown sticker is worn and faded, its ridges familiar under his thumb.

 

“You know what? Fine.”

 

Instead of running back inside, Betty marches over to the bike and snags Jellybean’s helmet for when she comes to visit. “Is it okay if I use Jelly’s?”

 

“Y—yeah. What are you…” he gestures to her skirt, the expanse of her bare legs.

 

“I’m not going to make us late for class.”

 

He stares, mouth still ajar.

 

“You have seen legs before, right? My legs, even. We went to the watering hole like all the time when we were twelve.”

 

“Right,” he surrenders, moving into his seat. “I just don’t remember them being that long. Hold onto me.”

 

Toni’s ridden with him on her own bike, but he’s never had a girl wrapped _around_ him like his before. Nervous, he twists his fists on the handlebars. This is part of the allure of a Serpent for some guys, he guesses. Never being alone. It’s even one of the mantras. No Serpent stands alone. Not for long, anyway.

 

“If you do a wheelie, I’m going to kill you.”

 

Laughing, he tucks his chin down towards his chest. “I’d like to see you try.”

 

They pass people on their way in, but he’s too focused on driving to notice or care what their reactions are. Archie’s probably struck dumb, which is just a bonus. Although he does note Toni regarding them with narrowed eyes across the parking lot. The attention feels _good_. Adds a little pep to his step.

 

Betty releases her death-grip and scoots back, shivering.

 

“I think you left an imprint on my ribs,” he says, rubbing his shirt and offering her a hand (and, he supposes, a shield for when she inevitably has to swing her legs over so she doesn’t flash anybody else her business).

 

“I think I just shortened my lifespan by a month or two, but otherwise I’m fine.” As he helps her up, he does feel rather… _gentlemanly_. Toni never liked it when he opened doors or held her hand, preferred for him to make an entrance, barging in someplace so she could stride in confidently behind him or vice versa.

 

“You good?”

 

“Yeah! It could probably use a filter change, but it rides pretty nice. I might—I mean, I could help you, if you wanted.”

 

“Thanks. Maybe I’ll think of a way to make it up to you.”

 

He stares at her for an extra beat, not sure if they’re _playing_ yet or not. There’s no rigidness to her posture, and she’s not smiling with that too-tight brightness. It’s just… _Betty_. Smoothing her ponytail out from the helmet hair. 

 

When she catches him staring at her, she fixes him with an already-exhausted look. “Come on, Stark. Time to get to class.” Her hand pinches his sleeve as she pulls him along, and although he purposely lags behind, he doesn’t really _mind_ this. Their fingers wind together, a strange sense of steadiness even as he staggers his steps and nags her with questions about homework.

 

She’s determined not to make eye contact as they stop at each other’s lockers before setting off to class.

 

There’s an awkward moment when she blocks the aisle, about to slide into her desk. Chewing her bottom lip, she looks up at him through mascara-lined lashes.

 

“What’s with the princess-eyes?”

 

“Don’t you usually sit one aisle over? In the back?”

 

He does. With Toni. And Sweet Pea. And Fangs.

 

“Not today,” he shrugs, one hand on her hip as he slides past her to the seat just behind hers. “Maybe with you as a distraction the teacher won’t call on me.”

 

“Maybe if you did the homework you wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

 

He actually _does_ most of the homework, she’s just the first one to answer ninety-nine percent of the time, or the teacher catches him unaware when he’s thinking about a story and he wants the interaction to be over as quickly as possible. Proving to Betty that he’s not an idiot might be fun. Make her shake in her Keds that’s he’s smart on top of sarcastic. “How about a study date?”

 

“Really?”

 

She looks bizarrely intrigued by the notion. Probably because she thinks he’s too far gone. That might be his fault, really. Most people think he’s…something. Put him in a box. Rebel. Serpent. He doesn’t really _know_ what most people think of him beyond _punk_. Betty probably thinks he’s an obnoxious troublemaker and Toni clearly thinks he’s a passionless lug. Maybe he’s both. Maybe he’s neither. But he’d like to be smart, at least, so he does surreptitiously flip through their homework assignment before class to see what he can glean.

 

The person who usually sits behind Betty is confused when they come in but finds another place without a fuss. People tend not to like challenging a Serpent. It suits Jughead just fine. Their move displaces someone else. Everyone ends up shifting slightly just because of his choice. It feels like a mild rebellion. A success. When the Serpents swagger in, Jughead sits up a little straighter.

 

A blur of gold in front of him distracts from their blatant, questioning stares.

 

“Thanks for the ride this morning, Juggie. Muffin? For my muffin?”

 

Poorly masking a snort, Jughead stares at the breakfast item she’d surreptitiously stowed in her backpack. “You were holding out on me, Betts.”

 

“I’ve been told a woman has to maintain a certain air of mystery.”

 

“That’s bull.” She blinks at him in surprise as he takes a giant chunk of the muffin in his mouth. His face is too full to say anything else before the teacher calls them to attention.

 

As class continues, he actually follows what’s being written on the board. It’s a little harder to zone out towards the window when his seat is so close to the front of the classroom.

 

His phone buzzes in his pocket. When the teacher’s back is turned, he sneaks a peek at his screen.

 

**_SWEET PEA:_ ** _wtf dude?_

 

With the urge to stuff something down his throat again, Jughead takes a bite of muffin and turns his phone on silent before putting it back in his pocket. Betty enthusiastically and logically answers the teacher’s prompt for the class.

 

_Some things never change._ He scrawls a little message to her and folds it, tapping her waist under the desk. She glares at him for interrupting her learning, but subtly removes the slip of paper from his hands, their fingers sliding over one another. It’s sort of hilarious to be passing notes with Betty Cooper again. Putting his hand up to his mouth to hide his burgeoning smile, he leans forward to get a better view of her face as she opens it.

 

_Nerd_. In a heart.

 

She turns, seeing right past his palm to his self-satisfied grin, and gives him the deadest stare he’s ever gotten. Holding up the paper, she quirks an eyebrow. He shrugs, smiling freely, even as she turns with a long-suffering sigh.

 

_Follow your instincts_ , he remembers written neatly in red pen in the margins of his paper. And a smiley face. _Weirdo_.

 

If he’s supposed to be passionate about something, he’s not sure where to start. _Where_ to step outside his comfort zone or find the heat of the day, what moves him forward. Maybe he should slide back into what it used to be.

 

Searching, he reaches forward and spins Betty’s ponytail with his pen. She swats at him at first, head bending down to finish her notes, which he appreciates. So he does it again. Betty turns and gives him a warning look with a small, tight smile. It’s kind of dangerous, and he likes it. He waits until just prior to the bell before running his fingers through her entire, neatly curled ponytail, watching the way it stretches and bounces to accommodate him.

 

“ _What_ is with you and my hair? Are we five years old again?”

 

“If I remember correctly, you used to find my kindergarten self endearing.”

 

“I was also five and didn’t know any better.”

 

They get up in sync, and he’s about to offer to walk her to class when Sweet Pea barges some kids out of the way.

 

“Jug, you gonna walk me to gym?”

 

Betty gives the boys a questioning glance, one Jughead can’t help but squirm a little under.

 

“Um…okay? I’ll see you later, Betts.”

 

The song of his suspenders and the familiar pressure of the switchblade in his boot makes him feel _slightly_ more at ease around his friend as they walk down the halls with the same jangling he always associates with deputies and cowboys.

 

“So what the hell is going on with you and the preppy princess?”

 

Cracking a grin at the reminder of her nickname, Jughead stuffs his hands in his pockets. _Nothing_ , he wants to say. But that isn’t really true. Besides, Sweet Pea has always been the bluntest of the crew.

 

“I’m…finding my muse,” he shrugs, averting his eyes when a bit of pink hair enters his peripheral.

 

“Your muse? Or rebound city?”

 

“We reconnected.” It’s the least gross or detailed thing he can think to say. “We’re both having fun, okay? I don’t want any of the Serpents being _weird_ about it. Or me and Toni. I’m fine. I’m…moving on,” he gestures subtly to Betty, who looks to him, pained, as the fancy new transfer from New York he _thinks_ is Veronica, the Archie interloper, drags her off for a private chat.

 

Hopefully _their_ conversation is as easy as this one.

 

Snorting into a smirk, Sweet Pea still looks amazed. “What, did you just go for the closest girl in proximity?”

 

The question strikes a weird nerve, and he shoots him a funny look even though he can’t help the joke that falls from his lips. “You know what they say about location.”

 

“This is great! I thought you were gonna be all mopey and sad-sack after Toni dumped you, but it’s nice to be around a Jughead who’s actually got some energy and a smile on his face. Who’d have thought little miss cardigan had it in her to go out with Serpent?”

 

“Yeah…”

 

Frowning, Jughead tries to remember if he wasn’t _smiling_ around his friends. That doesn’t seem right. They joke around. He was always being sarcastic, or quiet. Certainly not _surly_ , to his recollection. Not for a while, anyway.

 

“Maybe Betty’s chipper disposition is rubbing off on me.”

 

“Hopefully it’s rubbing off on _something_ ,” Sweet Pea grins, punching his shoulder.

 

~~~

 

Betty’s cheeks already hurt from fake-smiling. “Seriously, it’s fine.”

 

“It is _not_ fine!” Veronica fumes. “Archie can’t just ask someone’s friend to ask her if she’ll go out with him and then ask me out instead!”

 

“Well, he can. And did. We weren’t _dating_.”

 

“Betty. Without rules, we are animals. Archie broke the code. And thus _I_ will be breaking our date.”

 

“ _Please_ don’t break up with him on account of me,” Betty pleads, grabbing Veronica’s arm, already hearing the whispers in the halls, imagining the awful things Cheryl would paint all over social media. “I mean, he’s a nice guy, just…”

 

“Simple?” Veronica supplies, narrowed eyes and cat-like smile.

 

With a big sigh, Betty nods. “You should go to the Centennial. I mean, you’re new, but I think you’ll have a good time and get to know a lot of good people. I’ve been planning it for months, and it’d be a shame if you didn’t get to enjoy it just because of some stupid boy breaking a not-quite promise—and not even one he made to you.”

 

With a thoughtful once-over, Veronica’s eyes light up with an idea. “You know, I think you’re right. I think we should go together.”

 

“What?” she half-laughs, shocked and pleased by the transfer’s thoughtfulness. “No, I can’t.”

 

“Forget Archie. You seem like a class act, Betty Cooper, and I respect that. Oh and trust me, I’m an excellent date.”

 

“You seem amazing,” she offers, not sure how to salvage the gesture of goodwill. “And I think we should be friends, whether you choose to go out with Archie or not. But I’ve already said yes to Jughead.”

 

“Jug-Head?” Veronica frowns, clarifying.

 

Feeling small and weird with a little rumble in her chest with the urge to defend his name, Betty bites her lip. “Yeah.”

 

One soft click of heels echoes Veronica’s thoughts. “Interesting. I’ll text you for dress shopping.”

 

“Great,” Betty manages, hoping this is the last of this conversation.

 

Inevitably, it’s not. Kevin kind of knows what’s going on, so he fields the gossip circle, but people still ask her about Archie, and she’s forced to brightly smile and say it all worked out.

 

Just when she thinks she’s starting to get a reprieve, Trev Brown crowds her at the bulletin board where she’s tacking up the latest flyers for the dance.

 

“Hey, Betty!”

 

“Hey,” she smiles, trying not to drag the greeting out too long. “Is your sister getting excited for the dance?”

 

“Yeah. Actually, I wanted to ask you about that.”

 

“Uh-huh…” Her stomach curdles at the thought of the band canceling. She _can’t_ find someone else this last-minute. It’s impossible.

 

“Basically, I was wondering if you wanted to—”

 

The feel of a warm hand sliding across her waist nearly makes her jump out of her skin. Jughead shoots her a questioning glance and regards Trev with a cool challenge.

 

“Hey, guys. What’s up?”

 

Trev stares at the hand on her waist, and just to try and make things feel more _natural,_ she covers Jughead’s hand with her own. “You were wondering…?”

 

“If you already bought your tickets. I wasn’t sure…where to get them.”

 

“Oh! I’m on the committee, so I got mine at a meeting, but at the Student Activities office you can buy them whenever you want.”

 

Jughead’s gaze narrows on her in goading way that makes her feel prickly. “Don’t you mean _our_ tickets?”

 

“Yes. Honey.” She taps his hand again and gives him a closed-lip smile for good measure. She’s not sure why bothering her gives him such an ego stroke, but she thinks she can handle it for another few weeks. Probably.

 

“So. Betty.” The change and clear directed tone make her cringe in preparation for something awful. “I figure I have to make up for breakfast. Can I take you to the Wyrm tonight?”

 

The offer to hang out at a Serpent haunt surprises her. Is it a date? A sleuthing mission to find out what Toni thinks about his sudden interest in his neighbor? Or possibly just a token of appreciation for breakfast? His fingers dig into the groove of her waist in a way that makes her bend towards him.

 

“Yeah. That sounds great.”

 

Trev chirps up, and she swivels, almost forgetting he was there at all. “Oh, I’ll be there tonight too! My sister’s doing a set.”

 

“Your sister’s in the Pussycats?” Jughead balks at the new information.

 

“Yeah. Val Brown? Trev Brown?”

 

“How now brown cow.”

 

Betty jams her elbow in Jughead’s gut in the hopes there’s an _off_ button. “Sounds great. We’ll see you there.”

 

Scowling, Jughead half-drags her away even as she’s pushing him in the same direction.

 

“What the hell was that for?”

 

“Talk about _Archie_ getting jealous. You might as well have peed all over me.”

 

His brow furrows in disgust. “I like to think I’m a little more sophisticated than stooping to primal bro-mode.”

 

“You’d like to _think_ that.”

 

“I’m not _jealous_ of your little fanboy. Didn’t you say I’m supposed to be playing _passionate_ and keeping the gossip mill focused on our most unusual union instead of the spectacular brush-off you got from Archibald?”

 

“And yours from Toni?” she reminds him, not the _only_ one with stakes in the game. “Trev’s _nice_ and you’re a little terrifying. You may keep a switchblade in your boot, but that doesn’t give you the right to be a psycho. There are healthier ways to perpetuate that you’re a person of strength and passion besides scaring off innocent little sophomores who have a crush.”

 

“Okay. How’s this?” he asks, arm slinging around her shoulders and pulling her in for a lip-smooshing, warm kiss in the middle of the hallway that almost makes her feel like she should be popping her foot or kneeing him in the groin.

 

Despite herself, she sways when he pulls away, fingers gently resting on his biceps as she regains her footing.

 

“Better?” he asks, eyebrows raised expectantly.

 

Her voice loses its luster for a long syllable. “ _Yeah_. Also, Veronica asked me to the dance.” At Jughead’s bewildered expression, she squeezes his arm, pleased to be the one to leave him speechless. “It was nice, but basically another version of the pity date. So I thought I’d clarify now, even if someone else does ask me, I don’t feel free to go with them, and neither should you. I’d rather go as a pair instead of with a group of our friends unless you think Joaquin and Kevin will be something. I don’t know what you were planning, but...is that okay?”

 

“Yeah,” he frowns, and she has to tug on his arm a little bit to get him to move at a normal speed, not sure what his puzzled expression means.

 

During lunch, she sits with her normal crew and he sits with his, but she flashes him a smile, trying to check in how he’s doing. Jughead and his ex are on opposite ends of the table, Toni ranting about something to the girl who goes by Peaches, but it seems like Jughead’s only throwing the occasional awkward glance in her direction after a joke anyway. So that’s fine. And tense. Which is good. Normal.

 

Jughead is even in a happy enough mood to take advantage of Joaquin’s open gazing at Kevin, snagging a handful of chips out of his bag and winking at Betty across the way.

 

“See, that kind of troublemaking is fine,” she nudges Kevin. “Why couldn’t he do more of that stuff and less of the trespassing and drag racing?”

 

“Because he’s a Serpent,” Kevin reminds her. Whatever nutritional shake he’s on this week splashes up from its bottle at the swiftness he puts it down on the table. _It’s juice, Kev, not a gavel_ , she wants to remind him, but doesn’t bother. He picks and chooses what’s unacceptable almost on a weekly basis.

 

Her phone buzzes in her pocket. For some insane reason she thinks it might be Jughead, but it’s just her mom.

 

**_ALICE:_ ** _I talked to your father. He apologized about missing your date on Sunday and wants to reschedule for Wednesday at 5. He promises he’ll show up this time._

 

_Fat chance_ , she thinks, looking up to the table across the way.

 

But maybe this is just a “break” for Jughead and he’ll go back to the stupid stuff and being a _real_ jerk instead of just tugging her ponytail. Which, she realizes, bunching it in her hands, might still be kind of a rude thing to do.

 

Archie looks nervous as he slides into a seat on the far side of the table. “Hey…” At least he has the decency to seem abashed, but Betty’s not even sure she fakes a smile in his direction, still trying to decide whether or not to respond to her mom’s text.

 

Veronica bypasses Archie entirely and shoos some people out of the way to sit down by Betty. Immensely cheered by the social statement, Kevin leans over to get a good look at Archie’s slumped posture and pinking face.

 

“B! How’s the handsome new love interest?” She grins, waggling her thick eyebrows playfully.

 

“Longtime love interest,” Kevin muses half to himself.

 

She has no idea why he’d even say that.

 

Leaning forward, Kevin declares, “Jughead and Betty were grade school sweethearts.”

 

“We were _not_.”

 

“You were.”

 

“We were best friends.”

 

“They were obsessed with each other,” he says mildly. “Do you know how many times she went to see _Rebel Without a Cause_ with him at the drive-in?”

 

Squirming, Betty tugs at her skirt in the hopes the thick denim protects her palms from the urge to dig in with her nails.

 

“Serious movie for sweethearts that age. What tore you apart? Playground vendettas?” Veronica asks, dark eyes shining with excitement.

 

“We weren’t—” Betty falters, looking over at his table. The boy in the beanie she used to climb trees with. The one whose scrapes she kissed and stories she acted out. The boy who held her hand during thunderstorms and whispered, _it’s okay, Betty_ , even sharing his beanie when she cried. Maybe they weren’t _in_ love, but they did _love_ each other. “We just weren’t ready to handle all those emotions so young, I guess.”

 

“ _Swoon_!”

 

Heat creeps up Betty’s cheeks and neck, spreading like a stain.

 

“Oh my god, you’re _blushing!_ She’s so cute!” Veronica preens.

 

Jughead looks over, absently shoving another chip in his mouth, and Betty feels the crunch reverberate in her bones.

 

 

~~~

 

 

Still chewing on a thought (and a chip), Jughead’s in the middle of typing when he gets a phone call from Betty. It’s weird going from no relationship to almost constant contact with her, but he answers it without too much hesitation.

 

“Betty?”

 

“Okay, I know this may sound silly, but I’ve never been to the Wyrm, and I was wondering if I could hold up a few outfits for you in the window.”

 

“Just wear clothes.”

 

“You know what I mean! I just want to make a good impression.”

 

“Betty, nobody cares what you’re wearing to the Wyrm.”

 

“Okay, but I also have my mom to get past. There’s this denim sleeveless shirt I was thinking of pairing with a skirt but I’m worried it’ll come off as too—”

 

Her words trail off as he slams open his curtains. She’s in the window, still buttoning up the denim shirt, something lacy and black between the seams. “Are you just… _changing_ where anybody can see?”

 

“No. I’m changing where _you_ can see. When I let you. This isn’t even as much skin as what you’re used to seeing, I’m sure.” As she pulls at her shirt, he feels his blood pressure increase. “So? What do you think?”

 

Her hair’s brushed out, down for the night. Maybe she put something in it, because it looks kind of wavy and soft, or maybe that’s just because it’s in her general vicinity.

 

She waves, catching his attention. “Hello?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Yeah, these are clothes, or _yeah_ , you look good?”

 

“Yeah,” he repeats, turning away. “Uh, good. You’re wearing clothes. But you might want to…bring a sweater.”

 

“Why? Won’t it get warm?”

 

“Um, yeah. I’ve gotta go. Be ready in fifteen, and…are you gonna be okay to ride in the skirt again?”

 

“I’m wearing tights. Can’t you tell? Oh, the window probably doesn’t go that low.” He doesn’t have the urge to turn again, and Betty seems to twist in the unbearable silence before breaking it. “I can change, or maybe even drive, if you feel weird about it.”

 

“ _I_ don’t feel weird about it.”

 

“Okay. Well…see you in fifteen.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

His heart’s pounding like crazy as he tosses the brick of his old cell phone to the bed, taking deep breaths. Learning how to be _passionate_ with Betty Cooper without exploding one way or another is going to send him to an early grave. Especially since Betty can’t leave anything alone and is half-flashing him in the window. Digging the heels of his palms into his eyes helps with the pressure.

 

He can do this. It’s just a stupid lounge. With a stupid band. For a few stupid weeks. Besides, watching Betty interact with the kids at the Wyrm will probably be hilarious and excellent material for his book. Not that he’s writing about her. But just…in general. People out of their elements. Lost. Rebelling. Whatever.

 

That’s probably all he is to her, anyway. A momentary blip of riding against the current. Going to the Centennial with the opposite of Archie Andrews. Kissing in public. Wearing a skirt on a motorcycle with a boy in leather between her thighs.

 

Part of him finds it nauseating, and the other part of him finds it unbearably arousing.

 

Which is ridiculous.

 

Because he’s known her forever, and Betty Cooper isn’t… _hot_. She’s pretty. Smart. Maybe a little plastic, if her social alignment is anything to go by. She is _nice_ , except when she’s being a total pain-in-the-ass or judging him for heading to the principal’s office too many times. The never-ending roll of contradictions isn’t worth examining outside of a thesis, which, after all these years, he’s fairly confident he could write over a weekend if he had to.

 

Riding into the Wyrm parking lot wrapped in a pastel girl makes him nervous, almost as anxious as the first time he’d come in here hoping to become a part of the Serpents. So he licks his lips and tries to take a deep breath as they push through the doors. Betty’s so distracted by all the lights from the arcade section that she almost walks into one of the big guys who steps into their path. “She’s with me,” he mutters, carefully pulling her hand to guide her past them. Betty smiles nervously, those bright white teeth framed by the bubblegum pink of her lip gloss.

 

“This is kind of exciting.”

 

He looks over the dim lighting, the cheap varnished tables and chipped black stage. “It can’t be _that_ much of a thrill.”

 

She curls her shoulders up to her ears. “I don’t know. I’ve always wondered what it was like in here, what you all did when you weren’t breaking into ice cream parlors to paint graffiti and nick some mint-chocolate chip.”

 

His ears burn. “That was one time.”

 

“Was it worth it?” She nudges him with her shoulder, scanning the crowd as if the answer doesn’t really matter. “So what part of the Wyrm ignites your greatest passion?” He fixes her with a judgmental stare. “Okay, fine. Where would you like to start?”

 

“Arcade. I think we’re safest there.” When she moves for her bag, he holds up a hand. “Please, Betty. I have my dignity. And you’re about to lose yours.”

 

With a scoff, she lets her purse flop back to her side. “Oh really?”

 

“Yes. Because you…” He moves forward, close enough where she has to tilt her chin up just to meet his eyes. “…Are about to lose.”

 

The strange impression he should kiss her takes hold in his brain. Maybe it’s an old habit. All grown up and with a modicum of self-control, he watches her smile quirk, the arcade lights dancing in the amusement of her eyes. Searching for grounding, he catches the familiar cool metal of coins in his pockets to challenge her to a game. They start easy with pinball, which is vaguely cooperative so they can play every other turn. Moving up to fighting games switches her tone from encouraging and sweet to sarcastic, especially when she has to buy him a soda for losing. During racing she gets downright _vicious,_ slamming her car into his when she’s mad about sliding off the track.

 

“That’s it, I am _never_ letting you drive,” he teases, even as her virtual car slides across the shoulder and boosts to the finish line.

 

“You’re just a sore loser,” she grins, her whole face still glowing from her final, eventual success.

 

Since they agreed that the loser would buy some food, he makes a big show of sighing and swinging out of the cart seat before making his way over to the lounge with the snack bar.

 

“Jughead?”

 

He freezes, hands still on his belt, and turns to the displeased-looking fishnet-covered girl who used to be his girlfriend.

 

“Toni. Hey.” His voice sounds weird. Curved, like a fishhook pulling away from its prey.

 

“You here with Ponytail?” she asks, eyebrow quirked.

 

The fact that her hair is down today seems to have evaded Toni. “Yeah. We’re playing some of the games.”

 

“Is that what this is to you? Some kind of game?”

 

“What?”

 

Before he can delve too far into _that_ slippery slope, he feels a body approach his side. Even as he turns, a delicate palm firmly on his jaw, he knows by the intimacy and shape of her that it’s Betty. The flash of determination on her face when she leans up and kisses his far cheek makes him purse his lips and lean into her on instinct. His body embraces her automatically and awkwardly in the swiftness of the gesture. With an apologetic glance at Toni, he leans down to kiss Betty’s cheek too, but it’s…it doesn’t happen that way. He kisses her mouth. Whether by intention or simply natural honing, their mouths slide together, his arms squeezing her into a hug at the same time. The kiss keeps going, his thumbs skidding along her shirt tightly enough that he thinks he feels the seam of whatever that black lacy thing is.

 

Betty’s the first one to pull away, glancing at his lips and licking her own in a way that stirs him. Ever the actress, she turns brightly to Toni.

 

“Hi! Sorry about that, I just really wanted to remind Juggie what kind of sweets I prefer.”

 

“Like I could forget.” He rubs her waist, searching for the ticklish spot that drives her hips into his. It’s not like he wants to rub this in Toni’s face, but it’s not like he _doesn’t_ want to rile Betty up when she’s busy pretending, either.

 

Toni looks like she’s going to gag or possibly punch him, so he puts a few inches of space between him and Betty and waits expectantly to see if she’s up for challenging his affection right in front of everyone.

 

“Guess I’ll talk to you later, _Juggie_.”

 

“Yeah, maybe.”

 

Shrugging her off feels a _little_ good. It’s not something he’s proud of, per se, but feeling Betty’s arms wrap around his midsection in a reassuring squeeze as Toni and his friends look on at him in wonder, he _feels_ different. Good different. Maybe even cocky, as he leans down to kiss just behind Betty’s ear.

 

“Oh my god!” she gasps, jerking back.

 

“Did that feel good?”

 

“I’m…” She searches his face for something, sets her lips in a firm line, and drags him out to the dance floor.

 

“Wait! What about our snacks?”

 

“I can’t…think about food right now.”

 

At his incredulous expression, she loses some of the tension in her shoulders.

 

“I’m sorry, I just...was that mean? Kissing you in front of her like that?”

 

“Mean? No. Territorial, yes.” Betty looks pained, folding into herself. Before she can haul off and apologize, he holds her on either side of her neck. “Betty, look at me. I doubt Toni would break up with me if she wasn’t fine with seeing me with someone new. She’s probably on the verge of making out with Peaches or Pea as we speak. We weren’t dating all that long and most of our ‘dates’ involved hanging out with the rest of the gang. This is hardly a case of heartbreak.”

 

“That doesn’t mean I wasn’t _rude_ about it. I know I’d hate to see my ex making out with someone like three days after I broke up with them. It’d be like we meant nothing. Like _I_ meant nothing.”

 

Her little pout tugs at his heartstrings, and even though he hates himself for it, he lets his thumbs slide across her jaw. “We _were_ nothing. Toni and I. We didn’t have anything in common except a bizarre interest in violent protestors of yore and black denim.”

 

“So why did you start dating? And why do you want her back?”

 

Blinking, he loosens his grip on her face. “I don’t want her back.”

 

“You don’t?”

 

“No,” he bristles. “I just...want to show her I’m not some dried-up has-been with bad jokes and worse ideas. I’m still _strong_. Not because I was with her, and not because of the Serpents, and definitely not because of some stupid loss I’m supposed to be miserable in. I want to show them that I’ve got this.”

 

“That you’ve got me.”

 

His whole body feels leaden, hands falling off her skin. “That’s not what I meant.”

 

“I know. But you’ve got me all the same,” she smiles, tiredness leaking in through the crinkles of her eyes. “Why don’t you get something to eat and I’ll entertain myself for a bit. I know you probably need something in your stomach to warm you up to the idea of dancing.”

 

“Are you sure? Because--”

 

“Yeah. Go,” she insists, kissing his cheek, which leaves a warm spot in his chest instead of on his face.

 

Swallowing hard, he looks for something safer than a dance floor and finds Fangs and Joaquin. They comment on the crowd, skirting questions about his relationship as he finishes his soda. He’s half-listening, watching Betty dance a little shyly by herself when good old reliable _Trev_ starts edging towards her to say hello.

 

“This fuckin’ guy,” he mutters, leaving his bottle with his bemused friends, who _ooooh_ in encouragement as he makes his way over. They’re dancing like dorks, actually. Not even holding hands, just sort of tilted towards each other and swaying as they shout their greetings across the music. Not that Jughead could do much better in the dance department. At least, not according to the one time he actually tried to do something besides lightly jump and sway behind Toni.

 

“Nice moves,” he shouts, trying not to be a dick, knowing that Betty asked him to be nice.

 

Trev slowly backs away, glancing nervously at Jughead as Betty extends her hand to him.

 

Rolling his neck, he glances back at Fangs and Joaquin, who are both poorly masking their smiles with their hands and sending him encouraging if slightly condescending motions to dance.

 

He does his stiff two-step for a bit, pulling her in like he thinks he’s supposed to and placing his chin on top of her head so he doesn’t have to look at anything but the band. Having her all neatly tucked into his arms is nice. Different, definitely, than with Toni, not only because of the height difference (Betty’s more comfortable to rest on, he notes) but also because she keeps squeezing his arms and hands in reassurance or excitement whenever she likes a song. In fact, when the girls start singing “Keep On Lovin’ You,” she takes both of his hands to dance with her while she rocks along.

 

“ _You should have seen by the look in my eyes, baby_

_There was somethin' missin'_

_You should have known by the tone of my voice, maybe_

_But you didn't listen_

_You played dead, but you never bled_

_Instead you laid still in the grass, all coiled up and hissin’_ '”

 

Betty leans back, interrupting her sing-along. “Sounds kinda like you. Is this your Serpent theme song?”

 

“You’re insane,” he says straight in her ear, but she just keeps grinning and singing along to the music with a weirdly contagious enthusiasm, guiding him to embarrass himself in giant swaying dance moves. It’s nice seeing her be free like this. _Real_. His fingers trickle down her arms to the sensitive skin of her triceps.

 

“ _And I'm gonna keep on lovin' you_

_'Cause it's the only thing I want to do_

_I don't want to sleep, I just want to keep on lovin' you_

_And I meant_

_Every word I said_

_When I said that I loved you I meant that I loved you forever”_

 

The song seems so much quieter when she’s not belting it right in front of him. Twisting, Betty lands her arms on top of his shoulders to escape the tickling sensation he’d been trying to tempt her with, her eyes bright and sharp even amidst the dingy lights. “Do you think you’ll dance with me at the Centennial?”

 

“I imagine I’ll have to.”

 

“I’m not _forcing_ you. I was just…I’m wondering if you know how…” Her gaze drifts through the crowd. But she’s not looking for Trev, who has amicably migrated back to his friends. “To do non-concert dancing.”

 

“You mean grinding? Do I know anything other than grinding?” She nods, big eyes fixed on his. Sometimes she looks at him like she’s been planning this dance more carefully than her wedding day. It makes him a little nauseous, like the idea of boarding an airplane to Toledo. “Yeah. I can figure out how to avoid stepping on your toes, but I don’t know how to like… _waltz_ or anything.” She smiles, her fingers interlocking behind his neck, thumb scratching at a nice spot just under his hair.

 

“Does dancing face-to-face make you uncomfortable?”

 

“No.”

 

“Because you don’t seem to actually want to look at me.”

 

“Am I that obvious?” he asks dryly, pure reflex. When he does look down, her expression is a bit guarded, chest inflated like she’s holding her breath. “Just…not used to it, that’s all.”

 

“You and Toni never danced like this?”

 

His hands tighten on the slant of her waist, hips barely an inch apart. “It’s just a little intimate for a public setting, in my opinion.”

 

“Grinding is basically rubbing parts. How is this more intimate?”

 

“Yeah. Well.” He shrugs. “The eye contact.” Plus, Toni’s ass was really more level with his thighs than his dick, so it’s not like she was getting him off. Not that Betty was… _getting him off_ , so to speak. Even though she _does_ feel _very nice_.

 

“You don’t like intimacy?”

 

“Not a big fan,” he sighs, desperate to change the subject. Capote? His motorcycle? That stain on her tennis shoes?

 

“But you kissed me in the hallway.”

 

“Was that intimate?” he questions, trying to divert her rapt attention by looking back at the band. “It was mostly a tactic to get you to stop talking. An impossible feat, I’m finding. Plus it got the non-pity-related attention you so desired, although I’m sure _somebody_ feels sorry for you being reduced to spend time with a rascal such as myself.”

 

“Jughead.” Her thumbs trace the edge of his jaw, some ache blooming in his chest as she searches him for answers he doesn’t think he can give. “It was never a chore spending time with you. Not even…” she trails off, the song swelling as her gaze darts to the side.

 

_Not even…when his mom left? When he tore everything apart?_

 

“We don’t have to talk about it. We were young and we were stupid.”

 

Her gaze falls down to his lips, his chin. Almost...disappointed, again. Like when they were kids and he didn’t have anything nice to say about his day. After a few seconds of silence, she gathers her strength and smiles amicably, her eyes gone flat and glassy. It’s not _real._

 

He can’t help the thought that leaks from his brain and onto his lips. "You don't have to do that with me, you know. Pretend." She stiffens, gaze raking him almost viciously to the point he tries to gently jostle her with his arms to loosen her up a bit. "I know your parents used to be some kind of Stepford nightmare, but can I ask why you still feel like you have to fake it to make it through a simple conversation?"

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Archie, the dance, in school. You kept smiling through all of it like if you stepped a toe out of line everything would disappear. And now you’re pretending with me.”

 

“I was just being _pleasant_. With them, anyway. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to be when you want people to like you?”

 

“No. You’re supposed to be able to just be yourself.”

 

“Right,” she scoffs, turning her face.

 

“Hey, it’s _me_ you’re talking to. You can be straight with me unless it’s another round of criticisms on my childhood mystique. Isn’t that why you chose me for to this stupid dance thing? So you don’t have to smile in some idiot’s face the whole time?”

 

“Well, now that idiot is you, so…”

 

“Betts.”

 

“What?” she asks, a little sharper than usual.

 

“What’s bothering you?”

 

Rolling her neck away, Betty seems to find it hard to look him right in the eyes for any length of time. “You might not care if people think you’re dramatic or annoying or _stupid_ , okay? But I do.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“You talk about relationships like they’re based on convenience. Like we only talked at all because we lived next to each other,” he opens his mouth to clarify what he meant, but she barrels on, working up steam, “or that dating Toni just made sense because you both liked protesting and being in the Serpents, like it doesn’t _matter_ that we’re--that _you’re_ not together anymore. People can _care_ about things. Privately. Or smile at them, even if they suck. I don’t _like_ wallowing or being angry or making people uncomfortable. Not everyone handles things like you do. So if something’s bothering me, sometimes it’s just easier to pretend it isn’t until I can fix it. Or move on.”

 

_Sounds healthy_ , some older version of him wants to say. But he wouldn’t mock her for this, for opening up to him. “You can’t fix everything.”

 

“Obviously,” she glares, clearly meaning _him_. He’s unfixable. Or whatever they had. But...she did reach out to him, so maybe she means something else. Maybe it’s about the whole divorce her thing her parents went through. The Coopers even _fight_ weird. There were no broken bottles and rarely raised voices, but before him and Betty had their big blowout, she’d still occasionally scurry up to the treehouse to get away from the fog of passive-aggression until either _she_ or _things_ had settled down.

 

He can imagine she’d tried to get her parents to go to counseling or written them essays. Or maybe she just kept putting every strand of her ponytails in place and pushed forward with projects to offset the imbalance Hal threw into the Cooper house when he left for another woman. Jughead and his dad had apologized to Betty over the fence when they’d seen the moving van, and Betty just shook her head, ponytail whipping back and forth and said, “Thanks. We’ll be fine” with tight neutrality, even as something shattered in the background. It never seemed appropriate to bring it up again. Especially not when she was so eager to get away from him.

 

“In the interest of being a date and friend you can be honest with, I’d like to clear the air. I’m sorry for being an angsty little shit in middle school. I had a lot going on, and I probably took it out on you.”

 

“Probably?”

 

“Definitely,” he sighs, interlocking his hands behind her waist.

 

She doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, just rocking to the song, but then she manages to turn, regarding him carefully, almost as though she’s afraid of his answer. “You’re not going to bail on me for this dance, right? Take my edits and run for the hills?”

 

“Come on, am I the kind of guy would do that?” Her rapt attention on his face doesn’t waiver. It’s like she’s still waiting for an answer. Can’t even trust his sarcasm. “No, Betts. I’m not gonna leave you high and dry for your dance. You know where I live. And where we keep the shovel.” They both huff a little laugh as she pushes on his chest.

 

When he takes her home, he doesn’t let go of her hand until they get to her door. His gaze darts down to the buttons on her shirt, wondering if what she wore underneath was for confidence or if she wore it for him.

 

“So.”

 

“So,” she repeats, glancing at the door and back to him. “Are you waiting for a kiss goodnight?”

 

“I mean...if you’re offering.”

 

Her mouth parts and she studies him with bright eyes until he’s squirming and leaning.

 

“I guess we can.” The kiss is brief, but sweet, making that little pucker sound when they separate. He exhales through his nose in a little sigh, leaning against her door frame and watching her cheeks light up pink as she fumbles with the door.

 

“I have successfully put a key into a lock before.”

 

“I hope I can, too.” His voice comes out a little huskier than intended, and Betty’s lips part in something akin to shock. Adrenaline bubbles under his veins, and he figures he might as well riff her one last time tonight. “Not that you need a key, Betts. If I recall, you can handle yourself.” When her eyes narrow in annoyance, he hurries to complete the thought. “I remember that summer after your dad gave you the Nancy Drew handbook, you learned to pick every lock in both of our houses. Breaking and entering. Probably the reason I have such an affinity for trespassing. You’re a bad influence.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind next time you show up at my window.” As the lock clicks back and her fingers fix around the door handle handle, words desperately leap out of his mouth.

 

“Um, Betts?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Damn those intense green eyes.

 

He sidles up to the door frame, pretending to be bashful, curling a lock of his own hair behind his ear as he slips into a slightly breathy voice. “I had a really lovely time tonight and I...I was hoping we could do it again sometime?”

 

“Is that a poor imitation of how you think _I’d_ end a date?” she questions, eyebrow arching in challenge.

 

“Nah. You used to end them a lot nicer than that.”

 

Not for the boys who came to her door, necessarily. The ones who never materialized as shadows in her room. One time he’d thought _maybe_ , but when he watched the door for when her mystery date left, it just turned out to be Kevin.

 

She smiles to herself and he knows by the swish of foggy memories across her expression that she’s thinking about their dates in the treehouse and at the Twilight.

 

_Kissing._

 

Kissing.

 

He steps closer, trying to read how receptive she’d be to it again. There hadn’t been much of a question when they were younger, just an exclamation point. An ellipses that led into a meeting of lips.

 

“Care to walk down a better part of memory lane?”

 

“You already got a goodnight kiss.”

 

“Yeah, but no tongue.” She whacks him on the chest. “I’m kidding. I just...I want to. I don’t know. Again.”

 

“Again.”

 

“Yeah.” He steps forward, leaning his face closer. “Again.” 

 

Hesitancy bobs behind her pretty green eyes, even as they darken on his lips. Attempting to assuage her concerns, he bobbles his gaze to the side and smiles. “Maybe something like a do-over.”

 

She reaches for his face, and he’s expecting the kiss to be just the tiniest bit longer than the one before. So when his closed lips meet her open ones, he moans in surprise, the sound muffled by hers encapsulating and sucking his. Blood whooshes in his ears, hopefully just to his no-doubt reddening lips from the new, exciting activity.

 

It’s never been a surprise to him that Betty goes after what she wants, but when her tongue starts chasing his, he thinks his heart stutters and throbs.

 

He pulls her against the house by her waist, tracing the seam of whatever’s hidden under her shirt and getting light-headed from the short, interrupted breaths between kisses. “Betty,” he mumbles, wondering if she can feel him getting hard against her leg, his mouth stretched and giving as pleasantly as his jeans.

 

“What?” She sounds a little breathless herself, swaying into him. “Is this not the kind of do-over you wanted?”

 

“Now I’m just sad we didn’t get more practice in when we were kids. You would’ve destroyed me.”

 

He’s not sure what he’s said, but Betty takes a step back, regarding him a little sadly. “Well, good thing we’re starting over.”

 

“Right. Older and more experienced. And much better kissers,” he teases, pecking her again, maybe a little sweeter and more desperate than he’d like to let on.

 

She pries his hands from her waist and finally pushes open the door. “Goodnight, Jughead.”

 

“It’s not so bad, is it?”

 

“What?” she asks, regarding him curiously through the sliver left over by the door.

 

“Dating a frog.”

 

Her eyebrows quiver like she’s attempting to hold back a laugh, but at least he’s left with a real smile. “I’ll see you later, Stark.”

 

The soft click of the door and lock shudders in his veins, letting loose a wistful sigh from his gut. Annoyed by his sentimentality, he lightly bangs his head on her house and makes his way back to his own. This _is_ just a game. With a timer. And goals. And he shouldn’t get all worked up over Betty when she’s just going to want nothing to do with him after the dance. Once she gets her photos, they’ll probably go back to being neighbors, albeit ones who wave more awkwardly with the knowledge of what the other feels like in an intimate setting.

 

As he’s wrapping up his thoughts, he glances up at the window, shocked when he sees Betty’s reflection in the vanity. It’s her shirt. Open. The black lacy thing being revealed button by button until she sheds the denim altogether for an expanse of untouched skin. Untouched by him, at least, as of yet. He should look away. Close his curtains. He reaches for his phone to remind her he can _see_ but remembers what she said--that she shows him what she wants to.

 

Could she _want_ him to see her like this?

 

He dares to raise his eyes back to the vision in front of him. Betty’s fingers are tracing the edges of the lingerie like she’s memorizing them, learning her own curves. It’s not like he has a ton of experience with girls in underwear (even if Toni seemed to view bralettes as a regular shirt) but this seems...particularly erotic. Voyeuristic, even, if the way she looks up into the mirror is any indication. But he can’t tell if she’s looking at herself or at him. Not even as she unhooks her skirt and starts to edge it down, bending over spectacularly in what’s revealed to be a matching set of panties.

 

“Holy _shit_ ,” he mutters, dropping his phone on the bed and tugging off his shirts, seeking relief from the waves of heat climbing under his belly. He catches one last glimpse of her milky skin in contrast with the black lace before he falls back onto his mattress in a flurry of unfastening and shoving his clothes. Taking himself in hand, he closes his eyes and fights the fire in his veins by fisting his flesh.

 

It’s sacrilegious. It’s inspiring.

 

When he comes, his whole body feels like it’s pushed over the edge of a waterfall. He lays in his mess, letting his heart rate come down slowly.

 

If she keeps this up, there’s no way he’s going to survive the month.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed Juggie playing up the things that go along with dating Betty Cooper. Do we all like him a bit better now? What parts of the chapter are you feeling in general? Things escalated. Emotions are happening. Mmhm. Tell me about it.


	3. I'm so excited, I'm in too deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relationships are complicated. Whoaaaa they're crazy~ but it feels all right~ Juggie stayed up thinking of his girl all night *dance break*

Her leg feels sticky, not quite her own, tucked underneath her thigh as she waits for her father in a vinyl booth. She’s already ordered, because there’s no point in waiting to be disappointed, and she hates when Pop gives her that _sad_ look and offers to buy her milkshake that her father most certainly couldn’t for whatever his reason of the week was this time.

 

So she sips on her strawberry milkshake, absently picking at the cherry on top, wondering if it’s the syrupy red Jughead saw on her when he picked her up that night. If all this means something grown-up and sexy or just another accessory on a childhood fav. Although she _had_ felt good last night. Dating with purpose and without any games was refreshing, especially because she finally got at least a smidgeon of an apology out of Jughead. She felt good enough to leave her curtains open for what was a temptation for her longtime neighbor if his wide-eyed wonder was anything to go by. Even though she’d closed her curtains shortly after getting down to the lingerie, she caught a glimpse of Jughead’s layers in a pile on the foot of his bed and it made her feel... _powerful._ Powerful enough to tend to herself.

 

The bell rings, a middle-aged man-shaped blob coming in. Betty sits up in recognition.

 

“You came.”

 

“Of course I did. Couldn’t let you eat all your french fries by yourself. Your mom would kill me.”

 

Probably more because of the calories than the abandonment, but he’s right. Betty feigns something resembling a judgmental smile and places her cherry on a napkin to the side, its wetness straining the thin fabric.

 

“So. What did you want to talk about?”

 

“Typical things. How’s school?”

 

“Great.”

 

“Any boys I should know about?” he encourages gently. Like he’s a _cool_ dad.

 

“Not likely.” _Not anybody who’s going to stick around._

 

“Well.” Drumming his fingers on the table, Hal continues his ambivalent rhythm before reaching into his leather messenger bag. “I want you to have something.”

 

“Is it trust in the male sex?”

 

Without prying, he pushes a book in front of her. Her spine straightens in eager anticipation for what it could be. Maybe he finally put some thought into this--into _them_ , _their_ relationship. As she reads the title, her heart drops off the edge of excitement and falls into typical disappointment.

 

“Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.”

 

Hal nods, bobbing his head solemnly to that same stupid rhythm she can’t quite catch. “I think it’ll explain a lot of things about me.”

 

“You think a _book_ is supposed to explain why you’re never around?” She can’t stop glaring at the offensively simple cover. The denim ass next to the shiny steel. As if _every_ guy goes through some stupid crisis and finds comfort in moving metal and some strange.

 

“I’m covering a car show that leads into a hot air balloon ride in two weeks, and I’d like you to come with me.”

 

“Why?”

 

His eyes widen expectantly. _Why not_? “It’s the opportunity of a lifetime.”

 

“I’m--I can’t. I have the Centennial. Which you wouldn’t know anything about because you’re never _here_.”

 

“Betty,” he starts, his rounded, rectangular jaw barely even moving. _Give me a break._

 

“No. I’m--I have to go,” she bristles, grabbing her to-go order and refusing to let the hot prickle behind her eyes manifest into tears.

 

He can go with Penelope. Or Polly, even, should he not care about her education either and drag her out of school.

 

_You know what?_ She thinks bitterly. _He can go straight to hell._

 

She can’t go back inside yet because her mom will ask what happened. The backyard is a little... _exposed_ , so she puts the takeout bag in her teeth and climbs up the old ladder to the treehouse just on the Jones’ side of the lawn.

 

After a minute, her phone dings with a text.

 

**_JUGHEAD:_ ** _You okay? I thought trespassing was *my* thing._

 

Scoffing, Betty thuds her head against the old wooden panels they’d drawn into as youths.

 

**_BETTY:_ ** _I’m fine. Just trying to eat in peace._

 

She hasn’t even unclenched her fists around the edge of the paper takeout bag by the time she hears someone approach the ladder.

 

“Hey, Rapunzel, is it okay if I come up?”

 

With a deep breath, she tries to release the tension lingering in her lungs. “It’s your treehouse.”

 

“I’ll take that as a yes?” As he clambers up, his face is surprisingly cheery--eyes bright, smile wide, gaze swooping sideways when he catches onto her less-than-sunny disposition. She doesn’t know if she should expect him to look different. Maybe he does. Maybe it doesn’t matter anyway.

 

“I thought I smelled Pop’s up here.”

 

“You’re a regular bloodhound.” She sets the takeout bag to the side, funneling herself into the corner so there’s room for both of them to stretch out. He’s all angles. Even the crown ridges on his beanie.

 

“I remember this being easier when we were twelve.”

 

“Nothing was easier when we were twelve. We were just too ignorant to know how hard it was.”

 

“Wow. What’s got you in such a good mood today?”

 

“Nothing. You can have this.” She passes the still-warm bag into his lap, and he stares at her for a few seconds without opening it.

 

“Don’t you want anything?”

 

Trying not to sigh, feeling dramatic and hormonal and a host of other great things, Betty brings a knee up to her chest. “I’m fine. Eating all that grease will probably just make me break out, anyway.”

 

“I thought we were rebelling against the status quo as put in place by high school and Alice Cooper.”

 

“Yeah, well maybe I’m not a rebel, okay? Maybe I just wanted to escape to the treehouse for a while. I know that’s not cool and I know it’s not _sexy_ but...not everything I do has to be a commentary on society.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Startled, she looks over at him. “Okay?”

 

He lifts one shoulder in a shrug and hugs his arm around her jean-clad knee. “Okay.” His fingers circle a little pattern there, one that makes her blood hum.

 

It’s not uncomfortably quiet with the buffer of the rustling of the bag and wrappings. Steam wafts out of the bag, and it _does_ smell good. He rocks the burger in one hand like he’s inspecting it before glancing at her out of the side of his eyes and taking one giant monstrous bite. Beauty-mark-bespeckled cheeks full to bursting, he offers her a bite. When she doesn’t do anything but stare at him, eyebrow and lips quirking incredulously, he rotates it just a little more so the part he bit into is to the side.

 

As if germs are the issue.

 

Still, she bends forward and takes a juicy bite. It’s warm and strangely sweet on her tongue, even as her fingers chase the leaking fluids down her chin. Jughead smiles, his eyes crinkling underneath, and it makes her tongue dart out to chase the goopy feeling on her face.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“No, thank you,” he mumbles through his mouthful of bun.

 

Maybe having a boyfriend wouldn’t be so bad if it was like this. They pick at the burger and fries, Jughead joking, “Hey, I thought you said it was all mine.”

 

“I changed my mind.”

 

He squeezes her thigh and she rests her head on his shoulder and tries to let the world of her problems stay on the ground so she can ride this unique little high. Even if it’ll just be for a little while.

 

\---

 

Their rhythm is good. Even at school, where he’s at his most difficult, constantly tugging, teasing, or touching her in some way. “This is a very symbiotic relationship,” he says, admiring her and the usual breakfast treat she pulls out of her bag after he gives her a ride. But all the pride swelling in her chest feels ridiculous, especially since this is a relationship based in bribery.

 

Still, she notices the way he leans into the kisses she plants on his cheek. The way his hand snakes into the small of her back whenever they’re next to each other or how he massages the muscles of her shoulder and neck when he’s caught her rubbing them after a long class. He’s nicer with her hair, even. Combing it instead of tugging or twirling it.

 

She’s sort of...getting attached to this. Which is dangerous, given his past behavior. Plus...why would Toni give _this_ up?

 

Unless she hasn’t really, and she broke up with him as a stupid reason to try and get him to be bolder with his displays his affection. Betty certainly never saw them so much as hold hands on campus. Maybe they’d occasionally drape an arm over a shoulder, but nothing that would send them to detention. Maybe this is Jughead’s way of rubbing Toni’s nose in the breakup. That he _can_ be affectionate. Just not with her.

 

_Maybe not for real._

 

With a big huff, Betty tries to study their stilted body language across the quad.

 

“Betty, my bae, will you _please_ come to cheer me on for tomorrow’s game?” Veronica pleads, batting her perfectly curled upper eyelashes.

 

Jerking back, Betty turns to look at Archie, who’s still exiled sheepishly to the far side of the table. “I don’t know, V. Wouldn’t it be kind of weird?”

 

“You’re not going to let Archie’s indiscretion keep you away from football forever, are you?”

 

“No, but I’m kind of overextended.”

 

“With Jughead,” Kevin gleans, smirking when Joaquin perks up at the motion to his table.

 

Folding her hands over her elbows, Veronica bends as if the whole table should lean with her. “Betty Cooper, as a member of the student council, and my designated new best friend, I am formally requesting your presence at the football game.”

 

Friends _do_ support one another. Kevin determinedly avoids eye contact, pretending to read the label on his granola bar as if he hasn’t memorized its stats before.

 

“I...will be there,” she decides, trying to hide the burn of her ears that probably matches her thin cardigan. It’s not like she should avoid Archie forever, and she _should_ support the school. She and Archie were _friendly_ at one point. Maybe even friends, if she really had to think about it.

 

“Will your beau be your plus-one?”

 

“Maybe,” she offers, shrugging. “Football games aren’t really his scene.”

 

“Trust me, if he’s enamored and thinks you’ll be shaking your pom-poms, he’ll be there.”

 

Betty coughs on her meal. “I don’t know if enamored is the right word.”

 

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” Veronica grins. Kevin just gives her a soft, chiding look like, _Really?_

 

Betty tries to quell the rising nerves bubbling in her stomach. First she makes him take her to the Centennial, then she’s supposed to drag him to some football game he’d never be caught dead at unless it was to graffiti the field? For what? A corn dog? Another few pages edited with her red pen? It’s just...pathetic.

 

She can’t buy or barter his time or affection like this.

 

Shouldn’t, at least. She’s not her father.

 

_A symbiotic relationship_.

 

Jughead looks concerned when he hoists his pants up by the suspenders and approaches her after school. She tries not to think about how huggable he looks in his baggy sweater, a deviation from his usual layers. “You don’t have anything going on right now, right?”

 

“No, why?”

 

“Cool. I’ll just...I’ll give you a ride, right?”

 

“Sure.”

 

He keeps scanning the halls like he’s looking for an out. Of what, though? Their dates? This whole mess?

 

“Look, um, my friends have been talking…” _And I want to go to a rally with them instead of a stupid dance with you…_ “And basically they’re doing this protest tomorrow on the school dress code.” She waits for the rest of whatever it is he’s nervous about. “They’re making clothes out of duct tape and netting and garbage bags and uh...basically it’s one big art project. I was wondering if maybe you had anything I could borrow.”

 

“You mean crafting supplies?”

 

“No, I mean,” he turns to her, squinting as if he’s in pain. “Like, clothes I could _wear_.” At her stunned silence, he tries to elaborate. “I’m not _into_ it or anything, I just didn’t want to go the dog collar and chains route, which is what Toni and I talked about on our last day as a...couple,” he frowns at the word like he doesn’t recognize it. Catching her concern, he flexes a little, hips jutting out in her direction “Plus, I figured I should cover up, as you wouldn’t want me to be sharing the goods.”

 

Trying not to stare where a hint of skin flashed under the hem of his sweater, Betty scrambles for grounding. “I can’t believe you think you could fit into my stuff.”

 

“It’s not stretchy?”

 

“No,” she laughs, fingers trailing down the weave of the knit on his forearm. “Come on, let’s go to your house and I’m sure we can find something shocking for you to wear that doesn’t seem quite so avant-garde.”

 

His fingers intertwine in hers and she tries to ignore the incessant buzzing in her chest and sweat gathering in her palms.

 

~~~

 

Licking her lips in anticipation, Betty steps away from his closet with a handful of vaguely identifiable clothing. “Okay, I think I have a few contenders.”

 

Her face is so focused when she fusses over his wardrobe that it kind of makes him smile. “Is this your dream date? Dressing your man?”

 

“Ideally, he’d be able to dress himself.” His mouth opens in protest to remind her of the Wyrm outfit showcase, but the memory of her in the window stirs a certain tingling heat in his gut that he’d rather not investigate with her standing two inches away. “Here, try this,” she offers, handing off a blue button-down he’s fairly certain he hasn’t worn since his interview days.

 

He wrestles off his shirts to accommodate the change, beanie nudging off his head and falling to the side in the process. Although his heart jumps without it atop his head, he doesn’t want to scramble for it. It’s not like she hasn’t seen his hair before. It won’t kill him to air out his scalp while they try stuff on.

 

_They_. _Try stuff on_.

 

Ridiculous.

 

If someone had told him a few months ago that this would be happening, he’d have asked how much Jingle Jangle they’d been smoking.

 

“You know, I’m not sure this is what they were gunning for when they said they wanted eccentric clothing.”

 

“Trust me, you dressing up is enough of a stir. Plus this way I get to see a preview of what’s to come.”

 

Heart hammering in his chest, Jughead jokingly unzips his fly without pulling down to reveal his boxers underneath, loving the way her cheeks color and eyes fixate on him. “Eager for a preview, huh, Betts?”

 

“Oh my god.” She shoves the shirt into his chest and pointedly ignores his chuckles, picking a random place in the room to stare at. His movie posters.

 

“Yep, _Rebel Without a Cause_. I still have it.”

 

“I know, Stark. I’m looking at it.”

 

“Look at you all prickly. Is being around me half-naked making you nervous?”

 

“Being around you at all makes me nervous.” He can tell. Her back’s rigid, straight, fingers flexing against her palms while her gaze is fixed so hard on pretending to read the poster that he’s pretty sure she can’t see anything at all.

 

He grins at her, his cheeks all lopsided in their stretch, limbs momentarily trapped by formal wear. “ _‘It’s nothing you haven’t seen before at the watering hole.’_ ”

 

“When we were twelve and you didn’t have hair on your chest.”

 

“Or other places, am I right?” Her mouth agape, expression incredulous, he gestures to his armpits.

 

She looks at the little line of hair running down his belly, worry dissipating into the tiniest bit of curiosity. Or want. Based on her performance the other night, she might be _interested_ in a little show and touch, but he’s not sure.

 

One of them is probably going to spontaneously combust if he keeps teasing her like this, which would either be epic or _really_ disappointing, so he turns when he changes into his slacks. “Any big plans for us this weekend?”

 

“No, not for _us_. I’m going to the game tomorrow night and then shopping with Veronica on Sunday.”

 

“The girl who asked you out?” Betty shrugs, clearly unconcerned as she helps him finish buttoning up his shirt. “Will you be sharing a dressing room?”

 

“This isn’t some softcore situation, Jughead. She’s my friend. There will be changing involved. It won’t be any more sexual than…” She sighs and looks him in the eye. “You know how I feel about weird situations. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

 

“I’m not worried.”

 

They stare at each other, her gaze slowly drifting down his body. Her delicate hands take up his suspenders and gently urge them on either side of his shoulders, her fingers dragging underneath between his chest and the material for a few seconds before releasing it. He inhales, almost gasping at the light snap.

 

“Yeah. This looks nice.” Her soft, thoughtful tone confuses and melts something in his gut.

 

“I could be convinced,” He swallows, bracing himself for the bright pop of green when her gaze jerks up to meet his. “To go the game with you, I mean.”

 

“I...no. That’s okay.”

 

“What? You don’t want to go with me?”

 

“No, I just mean, you don’t have to go to _everything_ with me. I’m not a ball and chain, I’m just a girl you happen to be dating.”

 

“I’d be pretty easy to convince,” he teases, edging forward with his hands following the newly familiar instinct to rub her shoulders, cup her face.

 

“I’m not--I’m not going to buy you a bunch of corn dogs just to sit there and make fun of people with me.”

 

“Come on, I bet it’d be fun. I’d get to see someone tackle Archie and Reggie repeatedly without getting hauled off to juvie. Consider me intrigued.” She hesitates, although he’s not sure why. It’s obvious she’s not interested in Archie or Veronica and generally has shown a proclivity for school activities. All of her friends know they’re openly, blatantly together. “I’d pick out my own outfit.”

 

The worry on her face contorts into amusement. “You’d have to change after your protest. I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

 

“What’s a costume change for a night of revelry with Betty ‘bring on the frogs’ Cooper?”

 

“O--okay. You can come with me, then.” The earnest, wry smile on her face warms him, and without thinking too much about it, he pulls her in for a brief kiss on her lips. The urge for the pressure of her lingers, a tickle on his mouth, but he pulls away enough to kiss her forehead and straighten his shirt to avoid her slightly darkened gaze.

 

“So what do you think? This the winner?” He rearranges his eyebrows into a faux smolder, thumb and pointer finger at his chin. “Add a bowtie and I could be James Bond.”

 

“Here, let me take a picture.”

 

He poses, and she beams at her cell phone screen before pausing, alarm dawning on her nicely defined face. “What?”

 

“You--your beanie.”

 

He glances at the heap of clothes where it’s safely tucked away. “So?”

 

“You’re not--I mean, you can wear your beanie if you want to.”

 

“Tomorrow? Up the eccentric factor?”

 

“No, I mean, at the dance. I know you’d probably feel more comfortable to have it on, and I know how important _being yourself_ is and well, maybe we could take a picture without it for my mom, but otherwise, you could wear it the whole night if you wanted to.”

 

Coils slink together under his skin, his brain weirdly calm, still water while his body flares up in a tingling heat.

 

“You would let me wear my ratty beanie to your precious dance?”

 

“It’s not _that_ ratty. And it’s not _my_ dance. It’s everyone’s. Yours, too. I didn’t spend a whole semester planning my dream dance so no one else would get to enjoy it.”

 

“You want me to enjoy it?”

 

“Well, yeah,” she admits somewhat sheepishly, the phone screen fading dark on the image of his goofy smirk.  "Plus, you look good in it. Reminds me of when we'd snuggle up in the Twilight and talk for hours. I can't believe it's stayed with you this long." She pauses, reaching out to touch the fabric with her fingers. "It’s still so soft. You must take really good care of it."

 

“Betty…”

 

A joke doesn’t come to mind. Nothing does, really, except the urge to feel her fingers on _him_. To show her something. Prove it.

 

“If only it was that easy with people.” It’s half a joke, one that has her retracting her hand and staring up at him with expectant, furrowed eyes. “I’m sorry.”

 

In the silence, he feels a wave of emotion welling up inside of him.

 

“For the joke. For the past. For not being there for you when I should have and not letting you be there when I was going through my own shit.”

 

It doesn’t matter. The past. The stupid dance stuff, nor what he gets to wear, but he does feel like a …a solar flare, one where he feels just how much he’s missed her that he’s almost blindsided by it.

 

“I never wanted you to stay away. I just didn’t know how to get you back.”

 

“Juggie…” Her gaze drops to his lips, brow furrowed, eyes clouded by what he hopes are memories instead of tears.

 

He fits his hands on either side of her face and pulls her in, opening his mouth to close over hers in a kiss. Not the sweet little teasing pecks. Not the showy mouth-smashing numbers. A _kiss_. Something he wants to impress her with. One where their lips are in sync and her fingers move onto his neck. At first, she seems surprised by his tongue, but after a little coaxing, she gets really into it, sucking and swirling right along with him. He leads her towards him onto the bed, almost nicking his lip on her teeth when she falls into him, one knee dangerously close to his balls.

 

Sensing his flare of alarm, she leans back. But he doesn’t want to break this momentum, and hurriedly unbuttons his shirt, her eager hands grabbing at the waist to untuck it from his pants.

 

God, _he_ _wants to kiss her_.

 

They finally free him of his shirts, Betty slinging her own off while he stares, unfastening his pants.

 

There’s no motion to stop. Not even a glimmer of hesitation in her eyes as she shimmies out of her jeans. Her pale pink bra and underwear is mesmerizing, but he can’t help feeling like they’re going a little fast.

 

“Betty…”

 

“Just touch me,” she tells him, knees bracketing his thighs as she climbs into his lap.

 

“Holy _shit_ ,” he manages, totally consumed by the feel of her warm skin radiating under his touch, pushed against his mouth. Even though she told him to touch her, he doesn’t know where to begin. He’s right back in his middle school body, already urging to thrust up into her and find relief. So he rubs her somewhere safe, her waist, her ribs steady under smooth skin while she ruts against him.

 

“Betty, I know this probably isn’t how you envisioned it, but--”

 

Coherent thought dies on his lips as she reaches behind and unsnaps her bra with one hand, the straps falling forward and exposing her shoulders.

 

“Oh, shit, I’m gonna come, aren’t I?”

 

“What?” she half-laughs, her eyes still dark and bright in arousal.

 

She’s _turned on_ by him. That in itself is enough to make his cock throb painfully.

 

“I just...I don’t think I’m gonna make it too far into this. I mean, you’ll come too. Maybe. I hope. I mean, if you want to, because I…”

 

“Jughead. Stop talking.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” he sighs, hopelessly lost as she reveals _perfect_ , beautiful breasts. Pink, pert nipples. His hands weigh her full flesh as the prickles in his groin grow tighter, more concentrated. A slur of swears swirls lazily in his brain but thankfully don’t make it out of his mouth as he stares at them, at the way they _move_ with his gentle wrist rotations.

 

“Juggie.”

 

His gaze feels heavy and he has to actively drag it up to her face where she regards him through pretty lashes and parted lips.

 

“I want you.”

 

And that’s it. He rolls her over onto her back, shoving his slacks down and fisting himself through his boxers even as her heels push to expose him further.

 

“Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

 

He wants to tell her that he’s not a two-second wonder. That it’s not usually like this. But he doesn’t even know if his eyes are open, his face buried in her collar, lips grazing her breasts, blood thundering in his ears.

 

“Let me be a part of it,” she pants, even as the vein in his neck throbs. With concentrated effort, he lifts himself above her and stops chasing the inevitable. Just a few pumps of her hand wrapped firmly around him and he’s seeing fireworks, his body emptying against her thigh. He’s not sure why she directed it there instead of the bedspread, but he’s so fucking gone that he can’t be bothered to care.

 

_I loved you_ , _I want you,_ he almost says in his dopamine-fuzzy brain. Instead, he drops his face against her breasts, sweaty and smiling and sated. He can hear her heartbeat thundering in her chest, feel the way she tries to steady her breath. Words don’t mean anything to him. He kisses along her sternum, nuzzling into her neck.

 

“Are you okay?” she asks, voice wavering.

 

“Mmhm. And if you give me a few minutes, my blood might actually return to my brain. Thankfully, though, I can still use my hands.”

 

“You don’t have to.”

 

“I want to.” He nips the skin along her neck, reveling in the way she shudders up into him. Her head tilts back and he arches her chin to reveal more of that sweet skin with his thumb. “We should’ve done this years ago.” She jerks in a gasp, hips pinned under his waist as her hands fly to his shoulders. Little biting kisses mark her all the way down to her breasts.

 

“No hickeys. I don’t want people to be able to see them in my dress.”

 

“What about places they can’t see?”

 

“Juggie!” At her little huff, he grins, biting softly on the top of her breast where he knows it won’t hurt. “ _Please_.” Of course she’d say _please_.

 

_Please._

 

He wants to get her to say it again, this time with his name attached to it. As he sucks on her tits, swallowing against the texture and taste of her, he feels her hand snake between them.

 

“Getting started without me?”

 

“I just want--” she squirms, cutting herself off.

 

“What?” He’s amazed at how soft his body goes for her despite how hard and hot everything had been a few minutes ago, how he carefully skims her skin with just the pads of his fingers like he’s tracing ink on a well-loved book. “What do you want?”

 

Through parted lips and a strained blush, Betty stares at him, unable to form the words.

 

“Why don’t you show me?” he offers, gently kissing her shoulder, pushing her hair back behind her ear.

 

With a low moan, Betty leans forwards and kisses him, still working herself amidst the wet sound of her sex. It’s the most intimate thing he’s ever been a part of. Sure, her in the window in her lingerie blew his mind, but kissing and watching his former best friend, his childhood and current _sweetheart_ touch herself because she wants him is the sexiest fucking thing he’s ever seen.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, peppering kisses down her jaw, massaging her breasts. She keens at the attention, the praise. As he tugs and pulls at her, he feels her widen her thighs, maybe for a new angle, maybe to let him in. A strangled gasp and her breasts bouncing into him makes his cock twitch. Her eyes are closed, brow furrowed in concentrated rapture, so he leans forward to whisper her encouragement. It feels strange to be _so_ open with her, but he thinks he can try. “You look so sexy all spread out on my bed. And the other night, when you teased me in the window? I wanted to touch you all night, wanted you to feel how much I wanted you.” She’s barely able to look at him, eyes rolling back in her head. So pretty and passionate. His fingers trail across the soft down of her belly to skim under her raised underwear. “Can I feel you, baby? Can you show me how good you feel?”

 

A murmur and head nod later, he’s slipping his hand under hers, amazed at how slick and warm and velvety she is. But also how _close_ he feels to her.

 

_So good_ , bubbles up unbidden in his mind. He kisses her shoulder, pinches her breast, following her direction with her hand on top of his even as her nails dig into his shoulder, dive into his hair.

 

“I’m close,” she whispers, turning her head.

 

“Show me, baby. Show me.” He curls his fingers deeper, tapping out the rhythm she makes on his hand.

 

Eyelashes dewy, Betty struggles to open her eyes, meeting his gaze for a few molten seconds where he swears the universe opens up, and then she’s gone. Eyes shut closed, sex tightening and pulsing underneath his fingers.

 

“That’s it,” he murmurs, kissing her neck, then her forehead when she gets too sensitive and jerks away.

 

Entwining their fingers afterward should be gross and sticky and a whole mess. But it’s not. He feels good. Cuddles back and pulls her onto his chest.

 

Once she’s caught her breath, Betty scratches at his skin like she’s knocking on his door. “Do you think we moved too fast?”

 

“Is that a jab about my performance?” he chuckles, still too content to be offended if it is. But she keeps _thinking_. He can see it on her face. “Why? Do you think we moved too fast?”

 

“No. I don’t know. It was just…”

 

“Unexpected?”

 

“Good. Really good,” she frowns like she’s figured out a math problem but isn’t fully sure how she got there. “Probably better than it had a right to be. I mean, we’ve only been dating since…?”

 

“Middle school?”

 

“Jug.”

 

“Betty,” he chides back. “Really. Who knows me better than you? Or you, me? It’s like we’re just picking up where we should’ve built up to anyway. It all seems like perfect timing.”

 

The post-orgasm glow looks good on her, even when she’s clearly fighting the urge to relax and shut off that beautiful brain of hers.

 

Being with her again at all, especially like this, makes him think that maybe there are such things as miracles.

 

Or maybe it’s fate. Maybe they’ve always been meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We got them in bed this chapter! Huzzah! How do you think this bodes for their future? Also no one is surprised Hal is not great and the treehouse is a nice little love nest, right? Protests and funky outfits will have to wait until next chapter ;) I _love_ the thoughtful and kind comments you've all been good enough to share and will respond ASAP and look forward to more. Thanks for the beautiful thoughts!


	4. Tell me I'm not in the blue, That I'm not wasting my feelings on you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many of you guessed where this chapter might be headed. Hang in there. Betty may be anxious and uncertain about where things can evolve with them because of her past experiences but we know Jughead's been coming around to prove he can be a great supportive influence. So. We'll see how this prince and princess handle protests, shall we?

A chant of _it’s stupid_ keeps rotating on cycle in her head like an obnoxious, squeaky hamster wheel.

 

It’s _stupid_ to get attached. It’s _stupid_ to dress up for him. _Stupid_ to keep editing his pages and studying his expressions for what they mean. It’s _stupid_ to keep snacks on hand in case they need a distraction. Stupid to touch herself to his praise, right where he can see.

 

All of it’s so unbearably stupid because high school love _is_ for chumps. The same as middle school love. It just comes with the benefits of hormone imbalances, rekindled relationships, and now orgasms. After the dance, or at least by the end of summer, he’ll break up with her to go to college. Or she’ll break up with him. But the radiating burn in her heart makes her think that maybe she couldn’t. That she’s set herself up to be destroyed all over again by someone who admittedly has an aversion to intimacy.

 

And the physical stuff isn’t the problem. She’s always been curious about sex. Sex with Jughead, even. But the emotions...that’s where he hurt her before. Where he can hurt her again.

 

“Damn it,” she mutters, not willing to open the curtains and let him wash over her with his smart smiles and cheeky waves. Taking a deep breath, she reaches for the phone. “Kev? I think I’m in trouble.”

 

After she explains, Kevin is matter-of-fact about the matter. “So don’t trust him and be firm with yourself about what to expect.”

 

“What?”

 

“If you have to ask if you can trust him not to hurt you again, the answer is probably _no_.”

 

“But he’s grown up. Things are a lot more stable now…”

 

“Betty, as someone who’s been tossed over repeatedly by a person with intimacy issues, I ask that you take my advice: Enjoy it while it lasts, but remember that he’s still a frog. Er--a Serpent, I guess. And sooner or later, that boy is going to hop and slither away. Doesn’t make you any less a princess.”

 

“Okay.” The two syllables come out shaky, and she feels a little broken. “Um, Kev, would you happen to have some stuff in the costume closet I might be able to borrow for a protest?”

\--

It makes her chest clench to find Jughead waiting at the end of her driveway in his formalwear, smile warm and affectionate instead of wry and teasing.

 

“Hey, beautiful. Joaquin’s picking us up today. Didn’t want to get my slacks dirty before the big day,” he jokes, almost _bashfully_ rolling his eyes.

 

_Beautiful_ derails her internal spiral, defenses receded enough that she finds herself wrapped in his arms. Eyelashes lowered, he noses towards her in an almost-kiss.

 

“You excited to see me?”

 

“Kind of.”

 

“I love the enthusiasm.”

 

Joaquin’s beat-up sedan pulls up and both of them loosen their embrace enough to greet him, Betty insisting on sitting in the back to hide her blush even though Jughead holds the passenger door open. Maybe if she treats this as a friends-with-benefits situation in her head, the emotions will be easier to process. Fondness doesn’t have to mean... _significant attachment._

 

At first, she thinks Joaquin’s foregone the protest entirely or maybe just dressed up a bit more like Jughead has. But upon closer examination, she realizes that he’s wearing dancer tights with bicycle shorts and a black mesh shirt under his blazer.

 

“You all ready to see some weird shit today?” Jughead asks.

 

“I see weird shit every day,” Joaquin chuckles.

 

“That’s what you get when you shuttle drunk people around all night. Why do you do it? I mean, I know there’s money, but seriously? You’re constantly picking up shifts and letting Jason pay you late and you _know_ he has the money.”

 

“It’s a public service. And people seem to like it, so--”

 

“So…?”

 

Their driver shrugs.

 

“You want people to like you, Joaquin?” Jughead chides. “Tell them to go fuck themselves.”

 

It stings, the same way him basically shutting the door in her face did. Maybe that’s exactly what they’re going to say to each other in a few months, completing the cycle from when they were kids.

 

“People like that need you more than you need them, and that’s a fact,” he continues, casually sipping his coffee thermos and turning in his seat. “You want some, Betts?”

 

“No, thank you.”

 

His teeth poke out of a crooked grin. “Still think it’s gonna stunt my growth?”

 

If his white smile and the inches he’s gained on her are any indications, none of what she’d feared had made a difference. “Clearly, I didn’t know everything.”

 

“Glad you and I agree on something.” There’s a flicker of his eyelashes, almost a wink before he turns back to Joaquin and urges along more hilarious drunk scholastic stories.

 

Betty’s quiet for most of the ride, watching everyone outside. They pass Archie, who looks so miserable and alone that she actually feels sorry for him.

 

“Are you planning on going to the dance, Joaquin?” she interrupts, uncomfortable with the idea that if she and Jughead weren’t dating, she might be one of these designated driver tales.

 

“Um, no. Fangs is going with a girl he met and outside of the Serpents, and I’m not sure who else would even want to take me.”

 

“Maybe Kevin...” She trails off as Jughead smirks at her in the rearview mirror. “What?”

 

“You’re meddling, Betts.” His giant hand reaches back to encapsulate her knee. As he rubs, a warmth creeps up her thigh with the same slickness of an oil spill.

 

“I’m not _meddling_ ,” she insists, pushing his hand away. “I’m just _saying_. I know people who might still be looking for dates.”

 

“Meddling,” he repeats matter-of-factly with a measured sip of coffee.

 

“You really think Kevin would want to go with me? I thought he didn’t really like Serpents.”

 

Jughead gestures flippantly to Joaquin’s hesitant, hopeful face. “You see? Meddling. It sets young hearts aflame,” he teases, but the jibe still hits somewhere in her chest.

 

She’s still so shaken that she doesn’t even remember to offer him breakfast before stalking across the parking lot.

 

“Where you going, Princess?” he asks, gently leading her towards him by the neck until their noses brush and he can kiss her softly amidst a playground of asphalt and steel.

 

_Enjoy it while you can_ , she remembers, and kisses him more wholly, letting her fingers wind into his hair.

 

“Is French kissing the new French toast?” he smirks, teeth nudging her lips as he kisses her in the relative privacy of the shadow of some pickup truck. “Because if so, I think my appetite’s just increased tenfold.”

 

As she groans at the pun, Joaquin coughs and lightly knocks on a nearby car. “You guys going in?”

 

“Yeah,” he answers for them, hand skimming down into hers.

 

“Actually, I have to get ready.”

 

“Ready?” He looks down at her blue and gold outfit, which she’s wearing mostly for the game later.

 

“I’ll--you’ll see,” she manages, disengaging to hurry off to the theater department.

 

\---

 

“I’ve already found it and it’s perfect,” Kevin announces, sipping a pre-made iced latte from a glass bottle instead of a canister despite her pleas to save the environment.

 

“Thanks, Kev. You don’t think--is this stupid?” she flushes, holding the poofy material to her body.

 

“Of course it’s stupid. It’s _high school_ ,” he reasons. “Doesn’t mean it’s not adorable.”

 

“Right. Right,” she nods. He waits for her positivity, so she puts processing on the back burner and offers him a bright smile. “Time to go live up to my nickname, I guess. By the way, Joaquin doesn’t have a date to the dance. If you were wondering, or looking, or…”

 

_Meddling_ , Jughead’s voice chimes in her head.

 

“Anyway. See you later. Thanks, Kev.” She offers him a quick hug and hurries to class with her new costume on, other clothes stuffed in her locker.

 

Jughead looks a little surly, pen at his lips and his gaze out the window until she walks in. Lowering the pen, Jughead can’t seem to close his mouth, eyeing her outfit with obvious surprise, slowly morphing into delight.

 

“Princess?”

 

“M’lord.” She curtsies, gathering the clip-on long hair for her lap.

 

“I’m loving this protest more and more every second.” He reaches around, helping her weave and situate the Rapunzel costume so she can fit into her desk.

 

“We’ll see how well it works when my gym locker is stuffed full of hair,” she smiles grimly. “But this way you have a lot more material to work with.”

 

“I prefer the real thing, but this fun as hell too. Sure would help me the next time I try to climb up to your bedroom window.”

 

She tries not to beam _too_ brightly, satisfied by the way his fingers graze her neck. _Next time._

 

Veronica about-stops in the doorway, mouth agape in glee.

 

“Oh my god, did I miss the memo on a student holiday?”

 

“Hey, Park Avenue, you think you could move aside?” Sweet Pea bristles, wearing a home-crafted duct-tape and cardboard ensemble.

 

Veronica frowns and sidesteps in the doorway, more to look at his outfit than actually let other people into the class. “Okay, I definitely missed something. Is this Riverdale High Halloween?”

 

“The only scary thing in this school is its ignorance,” Toni scoffs, pushing past in her _Caution_ tape top and trash bag shorts. There’s a lot of skin on display. _Way_ more than Betty’s ever shown outside of the watering hole (or Jughead’s bedroom). Something not-quite-jealous rears its head. Curiosity, maybe, how Jughead might react if Betty came in wearing something like that instead of an ode to his nickname for her.

 

Although Sweet Pea and Veronica keep chatting about his unusual clothing choice, Toni pauses on her way to the far side of the classroom gesturing to Jughead and Betty’s almost matching set. “What the hell is this? A fairy tale fetish? You’re _supposed_ to be sticking it to the man, not fulfilling some storybook image of a happy couple.”

 

“Last I checked, we could wear whatever we wanted as long as it fit the _theme_ of convincing Weatherbee that people should be allowed to wear clothes that express themselves.”

 

“And you chose _this_ ,” she spits, and Betty’s not sure if she means _this girlfriend_ or _this outfit_.

 

“Well, I _was_ gonna wear the princess dress, but this seemed to fit better.”

 

Toni steps back, arms crossed over her chest. “Wow. You have totally sold out.”

 

“They’re clothes, Toni.”

 

“Yeah. Clothes. These express who we are, Jughead! That’s why we’re protesting with them in the first place. You look like you let _her_ dress you.” Betty inhales sharply. He _asked_ her to dress him. “Joaquin says you’re going to the game later, and to the Centennial.”

 

“So what?”

 

“So that’s not _you_. And you shouldn’t be changing for someone like Betty Cooper.”

 

_Someone like Betty Cooper?_

 

Fists curled, nails safely pressed against her palms, Betty tries to release the clench in her jaw. What does Toni know about Jughead anyway? _Not passionate…?_ But then again, what _does_ she know about his life when Betty was mostly on the outside of it? What parts of his body, his mind, and his life does _Toni_ have that Betty might never know?

 

Behind her, Jughead scoffs. “Like you’ve ever been an expert in who I really am.”

 

“You’re right. I didn’t know what a poser you are, changing your look just to get with a girl. No wonder you and Ponytail get along so well; you’re both fake as fuck.”

 

Class fades in and out around her. A fantasy.

 

A nice, month-long fantasy.

 

~~~

 

Wolf-whistles from Sweet Pea aren’t enough to keep him from the protest. “I’m a walking punchline.”

 

“You look nice,” Joaquin offers, glancing past him. “Betty coming?”

 

Fangs grins at them, moving forward in his duct tape suit. “He means is _Kevin_ coming? Because you know Jughead’ll make sure his girl comes.”

 

If Toni scoffs at that little comment, he chooses to ignore it.

 

“I can’t tell if you’re being gross or just stupid.”

 

“Maybe I’m both. How do you like my outfit? Who wore it better, right?”

 

Jughead snorts, cackling at the impromptu suspenders. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” But then he hears the shiver of material that is decidedly more linen than plastic and turns to see Betty shyly holding up her skirts while Veronica in her Vixens uniform and Kevin in some slightly puffy pirate shirt hanging open help with her hair. “Scratch that. Second best.” He reaches out, welcoming her to his strange assembly. “You brought friends!”

 

“ _Best_ friends,” Veronica corrects.

 

Betty catches his lips in hers for a greeting that drowns out any other coherent thought. He fists the material just under the hem of her waist, tugging her close. It feels so _good_ to have her in hand for some reason. Not _in control,_ just...close again. Like he can hold onto her for a while and she’ll let him.

 

Toni looks like she’s about to blow a gasket when she sees the others. “When the hell did this become a costume party?”

 

“It’s a commentary on the dress code. Right, Sweet Pea?” Popping a hip, Veronica looks shockingly in charge and educated for someone who only just transferred a month ago. Jughead barely contains a laugh, glancing in the stiffening “tough guy”’s direction. “If the school sanctions I wear a short skirt and show what’s basically underwear when I’m cheering on the football team, they can’t exactly be suspending students for doing the same thing.”

 

Kevin sounds rehearsed, one foot on a higher bleacher than the others. “Same for theater productions. They endorse shows that express individuality, experimentation, personal growth, and tolerance, and yet if I showed my nipples offstage or even off the basketball court it would likely result in taking away my academic standing even though no one else’s education was affected.”

 

“Smart. That’s what I said,” Jughead agrees, looking at Betty just to accentuate that he means it.

 

Her slow-blink renders him a little giddy, especially as her fingers scratch gently at his chest. Maybe he should’ve unbuttoned his shirt a bit more, give her access to his skin. “You’re all very intelligent. Now I’ve arranged for Weatherbee and the board to be here in five minutes, so be prepared with what you want to say.”

 

Boots slamming on the wood bleachers, Toni leans forward, her hair covering more of her body than her makeshift top does. “What, like she’s in charge?”

 

“I’m not in charge, I just happen to be on student council,” Betty reasons.

 

“Yeah, like you’ve ever cared about changing up your ponytail and sweater set.”

 

The tension in Betty’s body makes her rigid and angular in his arms. “Cool it with the antagonism, Toni,” Jughead cuts in sharply. “She’s just helping out.”

 

“Yeah, but what exactly are her intentions? Girls like her care about pep rallies, not protests.”

 

Betty straightens indignantly. “I can care about human rights and fundraisers too. They’re not mutually exclusive. This is an institution of learning, not just oppression.”

 

“You wouldn’t even be here if you weren’t trying to make time with your boyfriend. Who, by the way, would’ve said the same thing about you a month ago when he wasn’t trying to get his hands up those skirts of yours, Princess.”

 

For once it’s not _him_ riling Betty up, and his throat nearly shuts closed at the idea of Betty tucking herself into his side for protection. “Back off, Toni. We’re all here for the _cause_ , not a psych evaluation.”

 

“Anyway!” Veronica claps, sending a pointed glance around the assembly. “As a fashionista, I must say, those duct tape suspenders are _inspired_.”

 

“Really? Thanks!” Fangs launches into a description of how he made them, Joaquin and Kevin edging closer together with evasive little smirks. The rumple of plastic and trash bags accompanies Toni and Peaches glowering from the bleachers on high. As the conversation lurches on, Jughead runs his hands along the edge of Betty’s waist, not to tickle her, but hopefully to soothe her without the obviousness of a massage.

 

“You ok?” he murmurs in her ear, sensing how stiff she still is.

 

“Yeah. I’m fine.” And yet she crosses her arms, her brow tense and furrowed.

 

With a big sigh, he prepares to hang in until they’re in private to pry open her brain and arms.

 

~~~

 

Wrestling with the zipper, Betty huffs.

 

“Need some help with that?”

 

She jerks to the side, letting out a relieved breath once she sees it’s him and his hands are up.

 

“I’m stuck.”

 

“I can see that.”

 

He walks up, gently taking the metal zip in hand and dragging it down so the fabric divides, revealing her pretty back.

 

“I’m sorry about what Toni said earlier.”

 

“It’s fine,” she says, jaw still tight. Evading him. Even though they won the battle with Weatherbee, there had still been some tension in the gymnasium. Some of it sexual, if Kevin and Joaquin’s eye-fucking and Veronica’s new gaggle of admirers was anything to go by.

 

His fingers skim down Betty’s spine before digging in under the fabric of the dress around her hips. With a short little gasp upon contact, Betty grabs for the counter by the dressing room table. Their eyes meet over her shoulder in their reflection and he purposely drags the material a little slower than he might normally.

 

Her voice sounds surprisingly soft. “I mean, I know you two used to date, and I know it wasn’t a big thing, but...sometimes it weirds me out that both of you used to talk about me, I guess. Call me fake. Or Princess.”

 

“I didn’t like her calling you that, either,” he offers, kissing Betty’s shoulder, hands skimming down her waist.

 

She shudders in his arms, drawing her arms tight around herself. “You didn’t?”

 

“No.” He squeezes her from behind in a hug, nestling his cheek against her hair in the hopes he can warm her. “I guess there was a time you and I hypothetically didn’t talk to each other outside of banter and jibes, which seems weird to think about now, but I didn’t talk _about_ you with Toni. Our conversations mostly centered on arguing who was the most irresponsible politician we should write to.”

 

“So you never talked about me?” she asks, almost accusatory.

 

His gut tightens with the instinct to lie. “Not... _never_.” As she shifts, he squeezes her close. “I thought about you a lot, especially a few months after our first _breakup_ or whatever.”

 

_First_ , he realizes, confused by his own terminology. “Fight,” he corrects. “Our first big fight. As an angry, angsty little shit, I may have vented about the ‘perfect’ girl next door to the Serpents to ease some of my humiliation at losing the best friend I ever had.”

 

“I’m not perfect,” she argues, pushing her way out of his hold. “My whole family fell apart.”

 

“I know. I _know_ ,” he sighs, stumbling as she shoves her hips back to pry off the princess costume. “I’m not perfect either. Obviously. But we’re in this together, aren’t we?”

 

When she doesn’t respond, he runs a knuckle along her reddening shoulder blade,“Aren’t we?”

 

“Yeah.” Her voice is tight with emotion, her body curled into itself.

 

“Hey. The things I write about you...they don’t show you as some fake princess. I can...I can share them with you if you want. Might be a welcome change from my usual doom and gloom anti-heroes and nonfiction.”

 

“Okay,” she nods, loosening her posture, sniffing. She meets his gaze in the mirror before quickly turning around, wrapping her arms around his neck like she intends on dancing, her green eyes nearly sparkling on his lips instead of his face. “Yeah, why not? You’re my honest little frog. I’m sure it’ll be _enlightening_.”

 

“And you’re my _very_ pretty princess. One I’m lucky enough to kiss,” he says, his chest tight as he leans forward in the hopes that she’ll catch him. She does, her eyes and lips closed.

 

“We should get ready for the game.”

 

“Can I help you?”

 

“Help me?” she frowns, twisting her neck. “Change my clothes?”

 

“I’m looking to get a little more experience.”

 

With a warning look, Betty backs up against the counter. “You’re a weirdly attentive boyfriend.”

 

“I thought you liked the attention.” His fingers slip between the sides of her underwear. He revels in the way she inhales sharply, spreading her legs.

 

“I...am certainly enjoying the more positive aspects of our recent union.”

 

“Like what?” He looks down her with lowered lashes, not quite leaning in for the kiss he knows she wants.

 

“Like...the rides to school.”

 

Slow enough to make her squirm, he tugs her underwear down her legs, pausing when she doesn’t go on, even as she lifts her hips for him to continue. “And?”

 

“And...the hugs.”

 

“Mmhm...and?” Bending down on one knee, Jughead lets his knuckles graze down her thighs and calves, his lips pressing soft kisses on the inside of her ankles where he waits for more.

 

“And you say _I’m_ desperate for compliments,” she practically pants, sitting back against the counter.

 

“Tell me what you like about us.”

 

“I like the honesty,” she admits. “And I like the illusion of intim--” He bites her ankle, the shock making her legs buckle. “The intimacy. Oh my god, can you please _touch_ me or _something_? I don’t want anyone to walk in with my legs wide open and you’re just enjoying the view.”

 

“How about if my mouth is otherwise occupied?”

 

Gaping, her chest rises in a sharp breath. He’d love to see her breasts again, but when he reaches for her bra clasp she gently pushes his hands back down. Maybe she still thinks someone might walk in.

 

“I locked the door behind me so we could have some privacy. If you want.”

 

“Juggie…”

 

Gathering her dress for under his knees, he crawls forward, hands gently on her thighs. “What else do you like about us?”

 

Her lips fall open, eyes dark with a strange fascination. “I like it when you touch me.” Already flushing pink, her body inches closer to him.

 

He leans close enough that the scent of her arousal wafts heavily through his open mouth, his eyes fixed on her. “Like this?” He angles his middle finger along her neat little curls, pushing into the dampness there until she inhales, back arching in need.

 

“Yes. I need--more.”

 

“What else do you like?” he intones lightly, fascinated, lost in some role he’s not used to playing, adding a second finger to stretch and curl inside of her in the way she liked from their prior encounter, his thumb grazing the little nub that makes her gasp.

 

“Fuck _me_ , Jughead.”

 

“No, not yet. What else do you like?”

 

Making her squirm is getting him unbearably aroused, and he leans forward to place a harsh, sucking kiss on the inside of her thigh where no one else will see. Seeing his mouth print on her like a stain just makes him salivate more.

 

“Come on, Betty. Focus. What else do you like?”

 

“Kissing?” she guesses, gripping the counter hard, rolling her hips along with his hand.

 

“There’s my girl. Just. Like. This.” Her whole body shudders when he pushes his mouth to her open sex. She’d been a little wet before, but _now_... _now_ he spreads his tongue on her sex, seeking to coat every last inch with whatever he can give. It’s nothing he’s ever experienced before but he _wants_ this for them. Longs for her taste to linger.

 

“Juggie,” she keens, “I don’t know if…”

 

“You don’t know what?” he asks, lips still a little sticky with her arousal. Her teeth dent her lower lip, eyes dark and wet. “Do you need some more warming up?”

 

“No, I just don’t know if this is the best position for this. Your knees are gonna get sore.”

 

“Always thinking of me, aren’t you, Betts?” Her knees clamor to close, almost knocking his shoulders. “Hey, hey, it’s ok. Let’s stay here as long as we can, and then if I get tired, I’ll take you to the couch. You doing okay?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Good. Now...where were we?” he smiles, kissing the inside of her thigh.

 

~~~

 

There’s only a moment to shiver before Jughead plops his jacket on top of her shoulders. “No, I can’t,” she protests, blushing as she remembers that’s exactly what she said when he tried and succeeded to get her to come for a second time in the dressing room. He must remember it too, his grin all lopsided as he warms her shoulders. “You’re too good at this.”

 

“At what?”

 

“Being a boyfriend. It’s weird.”

 

“I’m sorry, are you criticizing me for being _too nice_?” he teases, squeezing her close as they wait for a line of students to pass so they can get to a decent spot in the bleachers.

 

“No, I’m just saying I’m not used to it.”

 

“The other guys you dated didn’t go down on you?”

 

She stiffens, whipping her head around to see if anyone heard before elbowing him lightly in the gut. _No_ , she wants to hiss at him. _I never let it get that far. But_ ** _you_** _drive me crazy._

 

“Relax, no one’s paying any attention to us with their all-American gods on the field. But I was being a little serious. Will I be--I mean, am I your first?”

 

She gapes at his curious, soft expression, not wanting to answer. He’s her first in a lot of ways. Love. Heartbreak. Certain _activities_. “I wasn’t talking about that, which, very charming, by the way.” He grins a little stupidly at her. “Your _enthusiasm_ is gonna make it hard for me to sit on these cold, hard bleachers for any extended period of time.”

 

“Oh boy. Is this your way of asking to sit on my lap? Because I’m down, but my legs might fall asleep. My knees are still a little sore from our costume change.” He’s ridiculous. This whole thing is impossible. She gives him a long-suffering look and carefully traverses the bleachers to get them decent seats, trying not to wince too much when she sits down, and definitely ignores his self-satisfied smirk in her peripheral. “I mean it. You can sit on me if you want.”

 

“I got that,” she replies dryly, scanning the cheerleaders for Veronica. When she spots her, she sits up a little straighter and waves, trying to catch her eye.

 

Veronica’s face lights up in recognition. “B!” Her pom practically sparkles in greeting. “I knew you two would come!”

 

Betty preemptively jostles Jughead with her elbow, his soft chuckle flicking like a lighter under her veins. She shouts some encouragement and settles back into her seat, leaning against Jughead’s forearm as a back brace and caressing the edge of his thumb.

 

“Is this your first time? With--at a game, I mean.”

 

“Yeah.” The lopsided, boyish smile keeps burrowing into her soul. Her best friend. _Former best friend_ , she reminds herself. “You gonna show me the ropes?”

 

“Of course! That there is the snack stand--”

 

“Say no more.”

 

She smiles, ducking her chin into his shoulder. The rest of the game is pretty self-explanatory, anyway. Having him next to her keeps her significantly warmer than usual. She laughs more, too, her insides bubbling like the homemade chocolate fondue Polly insisted on for her graduation party. Messy, sweet, and wonderful. The whistles blow, the crowd cheers, and Betty lets the wry commentary and mindless cheers take her mind off more pressing matters. It doesn’t matter which number is Archie’s, it doesn’t matter that people are _surprised_ to see her here, things just...are what they are.

 

And she’s happy. For now, she’ll allow herself to be happy.

 

“Jughead?” Both of them turn to catch Trev’s bright, painted face two rows back. “I thought I recognized that hat. Betty, did you actually get him to come to a game?”

 

“Yeah. He volunteered,” she grins, one hand on his chest in the strangely familiar hope that she can feel his heartbeat. But that’s impossible, like this. Through clothes. Directly over the heart instead of right at the jugular.

 

“All right, Jughead! Good to see you in the stands, man! Hope to see you at the JV games sometime.”

 

Jughead’s cynicism seems to waver at Trev’s eager offer, and Betty doesn’t even have to elbow him to play nice. With a wry smile and a “Maybe,” he turns back to the field, snuggling her in just the tiniest bit closer.

 

“Maybe?” she repeats dumbly, her cheeks aching from their smiles.

 

“You may have me going to dances and football games, but I still have my dignity.”

 

“Mm, do you?” Feeling bold, she runs the tip of her nose along his ear until she can breathe right on the pretty curl poking out under his beanie. “How about you let me strip you of that later?”

 

Jughead jerks downward like his knee just gave out. “ _Jesus,_ Betts.”

 

Feeling satisfied, she claps and hollers at the latest play, cheers for herself. For them. This. Whatever it is.

 

After Veronica’s spectacular halftime show, Jughead begrudgingly accepts Betty’s money and makes a trip to the snack stand to keep his spirits up, Betty promising to catch up on reading his latest chapter using her mobile data in the meantime.

 

Intent on multitasking, she opens a text from her sister as soon as the alert pops up.

 

Her heart catches in her throat. It’s a picture of her and Polly when they were young, holding two ripe balloons amidst their eager grins. She remembers.

 

**_POLLY_ ** _: You sure you don’t want to see the balloons? Dad said he’d pay and everything. It’s the least he can do._

 

When she doesn’t respond right away, the bubbles indicating another response wave on the screen.

 

**_POLLY_ ** _: Who knows? Maybe he’ll gain some perspective at a thousand feet._

 

**_POLLY_ ** _: Besides, we probably won’t have to see him again until Christmas. Which, btw, I might be able to get out of due to a sorority ski trip. Small victories, baby sis._

 

Betty’s thumb strikes the _back_ button.

 

It’s like she’s wound up in a spider’s trap, wriggling to free her internal thoughts when Jughead returns holding red licorice and a small popcorn.

 

“You look _stricken,”_ he smiles nervously. “Was the section that bad?”

 

“No, it’s fine. Polly just texted me and she’s changing her holiday plans so...I might not get to see her this year.”

 

She swipes back into his document but the words swim in front of her. Efficiency mode seems to be failing her.

 

“I get that. JB and all. Sometimes you connect, sometimes you miss each other. It can suck.”

 

There’s some rustling for a few seconds, long enough that she looks over to see what he’s arranging in his hands.

 

“For you. I remembered.” Bizarrely defiant, he holds red licorice out like a bouquet.

 

“Thanks. It’s...open?”

 

“S--sorry. I figured it was okay if I snuck one or two. Plus, it allows me to artfully arrange them for your pleasure.” His bashful grin offsets the scramble as the snack tries to slide out of their packaging.

 

They don’t say too much else, following the chants and plays as they gnaw on their respective treats.

 

“So they uh...they don’t run the clock, huh?” Jughead notes, halfheartedly clapping with a fistful of popcorn.

 

Guilt stabs her in the side. He’s bored. Of course, he’s bored. There’s only so much time he’d be interested in something like this.

 

“The game would be over too fast if they did that. No time to strategize.”

 

“I get it. More time to learn those three syllables, right?” His eyebrow quirks and her heart constricts.

 

_Go. Fight. Win._

 

He probably thinks it’s stupid. Like watching people slam into each other for a few yards of ground is a waste of time unless someone gets really hurt.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Her thumbs instinctively secure his jacket around her shoulders. Everyone’s shouting. Her ears are ringing and she doesn’t feel like she can eat the rubbery, giving treat in her hands, but she needs something to hold. To rock through her palms, grip and shake like her own form of poms to distract her from grinding her teeth and wearing down the hard-earned enamel years of Cooper training and hygiene have gotten her.

 

Thankfully Jughead’s distracted by the joys of yelling at the ref along with everyone else and coming up with insults for the other team that are far more creative than the ones they’re allowed to cheer. People around them laugh and pat him on the shoulder, shouting, “All right, man!” as if he’s been one of them all along. Like he didn’t aim that clever barbed tongue at her heart before he licked up her clit. It’s vulgar, isn’t it? To be so chummy with him like this? To let him _sell out_ and fake it with people he hates? He’s probably just mocking them.

 

“Finally!” he shouts, looking to the sky in thanks when the timer finally blares and the thunderous racket of people jumping in the stands erupts around them.

 

“Jug,” she starts, reaching for his hand, but he’s already half out of their row. Bile mixed with red licorice bobs in her throat, and she swallows desperately against it because it’s _fine_. He gave her his jacket, he went down on her, they’re breaking up in a month--

 

He pauses in the aisle, looking down the steps before turning to her and offering a hand. “Beat the traffic?”

 

“Yeah. Let me just say bye to V.”

 

Hugging Veronica with the tightness of how she used to hold her sister, Betty lays on the compliments like hot fudge until Jughead gets tired and starts gently tugging her ponytail.

 

“Come on, Betts. Let’s beat the rush.”

 

“See you later, B!” Veronica waves, cheerleading skirt swishing as she turns to rejoin the Vixens. “And I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you, Jughead.”

 

“Oh my god, you’re ruining my _outsider_ reputation,” he teases, dragging Betty towards the bike, frowning at the hard seat. “Um, are you still uncomfortable? Maybe I can fan out my shirt on the seat for you or something.”

 

The molten chocolate in her heart swirls anxiously, eagerly, almost like when she makes brownies for the bake sales. Eager to please. To help. “If I could handle the bleachers for an hour, I’m sure I can handle the bike for a few minutes. Thank you, though.”

 

“My pleasure.” He clears his throat, readjusting her arms until they’re tighter around his waist before takeoff.

 

Once at the house, she starts to peel his jacket off her shoulders, the material sticking to her shirt and exposed skin. Maybe she should offer to wash it.

 

“Hey. Keep it.”

 

She blinks with the shock of being slapped by the insinuation. “What?” _Keep it?_

 

Shifting shyly onto one hip, Jughead refastens the coat around her. “At least for the weekend. It looks good on you. Plus, it serves as a _very_ attractive reminder of me that will keep you warm.”

 

“But…” Her hands stay on the front of the jacket even as he takes the lapels and drags her closer for a kiss. Against her better judgment, she closes her eyes and lets it happen.

 

She’s still falling, hurtling towards memories of the drive-in with soft sherpa against her cheek, his lips sticky with slurpee, interrupting their kisses only to quote along to his favorite lines, his teeth shiny in the flickering lights and his eyelashes so delicate against her cheeks.

 

She loved him. She _loves_ him. Always. Still. Again.

 

_At least for the weekend._

 

The barbed realization sinks into her skin, pulling tighter around her heart.

 

_Not again. No. Not again. Please not again._

 

“I have to go inside,” she whispers, not daring to open her eyes.

 

“You don’t want to come up and strip me of my dignity?”

 

His hands climb higher, pulling her into another kiss, a deeper one. And she can’t get out. It roots her to the spot, her lips clinging to his even as her nails dig into his jacket so they don’t cleave into _him_.

 

His lips migrate to her jawbone and she struggles not to arch into this pull he has. “I’m...it’s been a long day. Wouldn’t want to overexpose you to all the indignity I have planned in one night. I mean, I made you dress up, come to a game, and then...well…”

 

“You know I volunteered for those things, right?” His mouth is hot and wet and salty from the popcorn.

 

“N--no. I should go home.”

 

Maybe sensing her tension, Jughead drops his hands from her shoulders. “All right, Betts. Have a good night. I’m guessing I’ll see you tomorrow and Sunday?”

 

“Not unless you’re planning on doing homework and going dress shopping with Veronica.” She’s already digging for her keys just for something to do with her hands.

 

“You want to do that study date we were talking about?”

 

The muscles in her neck tense up and she’s still too nervous to look him in the eye. “We could. If you want.”

 

He pauses, that little frown that means he’s thinking curling out of the corner of her eye.

 

“I mean, how early are we thinking?”

 

Taken aback, she chuckles. “Are you seriously going to spend your Saturday studying with me instead of hanging at the Wyrm?”

 

“Well, yeah. I mean, I could do both. 24 hours of homework seems like a lot.”

 

“Okay. Why don’t you call me when you wake up, and maybe we can work on stuff for a while?”

 

Despite her better judgment, she squeezes his hand and kisses him one last time before heading back to the house. As she slides her key into the lock, she glances over at his lean fame leaned up against the garage. He offers her that soft smirk that seems to follow her everywhere she goes. That’s been rooted in her life for years, her dreams, and yes, sometimes even nightmares.

 

“Sweet dreams, Betts.”

 

_Does he know?_

 

With one last smile over her shoulder, Betty goes inside. She can’t tell him. There’s no point now, anyway. He’s probably being so nice because this time their inevitable breakup is a planned, amicable one. Just like Kevin said, she needs to manage her expectations and just enjoy what they have. The sexual stuff _is_ great, as is the positive attention and _almost_ friendship they seem to have back.

 

That should be enough. Even if her brain is swarming with the thought that it isn’t.

 

The sound of her mother in the house makes Betty instinctively straighten her posture and smooth her ponytail just in case making out with Jughead displaced everything again. “How was the game?” Alice asks, removing snazzy reading glasses from the bridge of her nose.

 

“Fine. Good.”

 

Alice’s narrowed eyes slowly rake over Betty, cataloging whatever she does in an investigative reporter’s mind. “Quite the upgrade there.” At Betty’s questioning frown, Alice gestures to the jacket. “That was very nice of Jughead to lend his jacket to you.”

 

She instinctively tightens it around her. _It’s not like it’s armor._ “Yeah.”

 

“You two have been spending an awful lot of time together lately.”

 

“Mmhm.” Toeing off her shoes, Betty tries to escape up the stairwell.

 

“So, I take it breakfast wasn’t just a one-off?”

 

“Nope.” Two stairs at a time. _Don’t run._

 

“You two used to be so close. It’s nice to see you together again.”

 

What can she say to that? _I know?_ _Don’t get used to it?_ Betty sighs and tries not to make eye contact.

 

“What happened between you two anyway?”

 

_Now? Then?_

 

_Past tense, Betty. Alice always speaks with purpose. She used the past tense._

 

Alice probably doesn’t remember chanting, “You’re better off without him” and insisting she “let go of that Jones boy.” Because it didn’t matter back then. Not when their own family was falling apart around them.

 

“Usual stuff, I guess. Junior High.”

 

Snorting in derision, Alice goes back to editing her proofs. “And that explains anything?” There’s a stiff movement by the time she escapes upstairs.

 

Feeling strange, Betty throws her stuff to the side of the bed and takes out her ponytail, pausing by her vanity. The jacket’s big on her, obviously. Still retains his general shape.

 

Not sure how to feel, Betty opts for cataloging a picture for later, and nearly drops the damn phone when Alice barges in without so much as a knock.

 

“ _Mom_!”

 

“How serious are you with this boy?”

 

“What are you--I don’t know,” she flushes, hurrying to the bathroom in the hopes it’ll be the one place she can drown out her mother’s questioning.

 

“I mean, you don’t go from childhood sweethearts to not talking to _giving someone your jacket_ and having breakfast overnight. What is this? Are you both just making amends before graduating or is this something I should be monitoring?”

 

Jaw dropping, Betty pulls open the jacket so she can breathe. “Monitoring?!”

 

Twisting her mouth, Alice looks off to the side medicine cabinet where Betty keeps her birth control pills.

 

“Oh my god.”

 

“What? It’s a legitimate question. I don’t want to know the details, but if we need to go to the gynecologist--”

 

“Mom! I’m healthy. I’m also _definitely_ not talking about this.”

 

“Okay, but after Polly’s little scare I can’t help but feel like maybe...I should be more involved. Who knows where he’s been in the years since your cute little treehouse dates?”

 

The image of a pretentious pink-haired jerk in caution tape and a trash bag flitters through her mind. The idea of sharing Jughead with someone--anyone who could even _think_ to call him _passionless--_ sets her teeth on edge _._ A selfish part of her hopes that the _passionless_ comment meant maybe sex wasn’t good with those two. But it’s good when Betty and Jug are together. Maybe Betty’s just more inexperienced, but she thinks her expectations are reasonable and he’s exceeded them on almost every count.

 

Alice is still talking and Betty’s not sure how much she’s missed, so she tries to school her features and tune back in. “I just want you to be _safe_. When I found out your father had an affair, the first thing I did was get tested. Well, after freezing his cards and bank accounts. But it’s easier when you’re young. There are fewer assets to divide.”

 

“Just the jacket for now, mom.”

 

“You’d think that, but you’d be surprised. Certain hangouts can suddenly go off-limits, not to mention friends and...oh! His father says he’s going to NYU which is just a jot away from Columbia, so god help you if you run into him or apply for the same internships.”

 

“He’s going to NYU?” At her mother’s blank stare, Betty tries to compose herself, continue to get ready for bed without mentally calculating how feasible it would _be_ to run into each other on a regular basis without the inevitably of being next-door-neighbors. “That’s amazing. I didn’t know he had the grades.”

 

“He had to get his act together sometime.” Absently flicking at the lipstick no one else is going to see tonight, Alice regards herself in Betty’s vanity mirror. “I should probably tell FP to get him tested.”

 

“Oh my god, _no_! Get out. I have to go to bed and forget this nightmare conversation ever happened.”

 

As she’s leaving, Alice preaches, “I’m just looking out for you, Elizabeth! I know he’s a nice boy, but--”

 

“ _Bye_!”

 

Betty slams the door shut and locks it in a brief, shining moment of rebellion. She ignores the annoyed call of her name, ignores the ringing headache in her ears, and turns to the window. Jughead probably wasn’t watching, but he does look up from his laptop when he feels her gaze on him and smiles.

 

It might not be so bad to get some fresh air. With the boldness that comes with Jughead’s jacket, Betty unlatches the window and lets the cold air in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all hangin' in there? Betty gets much better advice next chapter and there will be lots of heart-to-hearts. Which hearts do you look forward to being addressed? How are you feeling? Fav parts? Let me know and see you soon for the next chapter!


	5. And I meant every word I said

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poems, parties, and pep talks. Woo! Also...um...the BIG TALK. Be prepared. Have a stuffed animal on standby. Like Hot Dog. Or Caramel.

Morning drool is Jughead’s longtime friend. He’s gotten in the habit of absently running the back of his hand over his mouth as soon as he wakes up. But lately, there’s been the anticipation of a different kind of wet splotch greeting him upon consciousness. Not every morning, obviously. But a lot more often than he’d like, considering the number of clean pairs of underwear he has on hand. With the bleary awareness of the sun’s rays, he wonders if he should jack off before his study date with Betty just so he can think a little more clearly without wanting to dry hump her leg. Coffee first, though.

 

As he stumbles to the kitchen, his feet calloused to the cold tile below, he’s vaguely aware of an attractive, familiar rear end sticking out from under Alice Cooper’s car hood. Denim overalls cling to her curves in a much different way than her little shorts from their youth did. He’s spent years aware of how her back arches when she’s working on a car but now that he knows what it looks like without all those pesky clothes his drool reactivates and he shuffles outside without any shoes to give her a kiss hello in the off-chance she’ll let him touch her.

 

“Hey.” She straightens upon hearing his approach, running a hand through her hair as if to make sure it’s still in place. Everything’s surprisingly clean on all counts. No motor oil or grease lingering anywhere it shouldn’t be. A cute little red bandana is tied just behind the tips of her ears as a headband and he likes it, touches it as if following the path she carefully wrung herself.

 

“Cute,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep as he plants a messy kiss somewhere on the corner of her lips, belated realizing he probably should’ve aimed for her cheek before he’s brushed his teeth. But to his surprise, she doesn’t say anything about his morning breath and looks from the motor to his chin, tugging at her hair like she’s _nervous_ or something.

 

“I wasn’t sure what time you’d wake up so I decided to get a head start on some errands.”

 

“Errands? Like tuning up your mom’s car?” His lips quirk up in as affectionate a smile he can manage this early in the day. “Always thinking of other people.”

 

“She lets me borrow it on occasion so it’s not totally selfless.”

 

“Did you also hope to lure me out of my eternal slumber with your womanly wiles? Because if so, mission success.”

 

She laughs, pushing his shoulder. “I got you a filter for your bike too if you want me to change it.”

 

That shouldn’t sound erotic. Or romantic. Or anything other than what it is. But it does. He swallows, chest flooding with warmth.

 

“Yeah. That--that’d be great. Let me just get my coffee and I’ll help you.”

 

“No, you don’t have to. I can just pop it open and get out of your hair. It’s the least I can do for all the rides.”

 

“Betty. Please. It’s not every day I get a pretty girl willing to open my bike. Let me grab my coffee and I’ll be right back.”

 

He touches down on her hip to help him balance for another quick kiss before moving inside to fire up the coffee maker.

 

No coffee for Betty. Maybe he should start stocking tea. Or those weird energy drinks she likes. Although it seems like kind of a waste when her house with its extensive pantry is just across the way. There’s little hope of finding anything remotely resembling a breakfast treat as he digs through the cupboards of his kitchen for anything she might like. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. Greasy. He should fix that.

 

After the quickest shower he’s ever taken, Jughead gargles some mouthwash and nearly sloshes the coffee over the crown canister and onto his hand in his rush.

 

Licking his lips, he walks with a little more jaunt than he’s used to in an attempt to hurry back to her. Her gaze flickers over his still-dripping uncovered curls as his hand smooths under the criss-cross of her overalls. Trying to keep his heartbeat in check, he makes small talk about mechanical stuff, at least _trying_ to pretend he knows what the hell she’s doing.

 

“How have you not built your own car from scratch by now?”

 

“I’ve never needed one before.”

 

“Yeah, but you love them.”

 

Her shoulders tense but her gaze stays trained on the engine. “My dad and I were supposed to build a car together sophomore year. Then his weekends got full with other activities so...I just found other things to fill my time with.”

 

“Couldn’t he help you on some other day? Or buy you a new car to make up for it?” It’s only _half_ a joke.

 

“I don’t need a reminder of my absent dad sitting in my driveway.” He’s not sure what to say to that. Not that he doesn’t _get_ it, but still. Maybe he needs more coffee to come up with the right way to repartee.

 

After she tightens everything up one last time, he steps back so Betty can close the Cooper car hood with a satisfying slam, blinking up at him with long lashes and a slightly impatient smile. “Filter?”

 

“As in, I should have one?”

 

She rolls her eyes, curling her fingers in his still-wet hair like she’s weighing him on some invisible scale. Whatever the verdict, she seems to like it, smiling and gently dragging him by the wrist to get to his bike. “I can’t _wait_ to hear what you’ve written about me.”

 

His smile trembles a little at the idea of it. “Because of the lack of filter thing?”

 

With a little pop, she fits the new filter in place, his old one shaking free of debris.

 

“Yeah. I guess so.” Her eyes practically swirl with focus and his body almost sinks into it--that feeling of going down the rabbit hole with her.

 

His fingers dip into his pocket for the worrying little sheet of paper he’d printed out last night.

 

“Red,” he says, her bright green eyes sharp on his face, even as he tries to read the paper folded over in his hands. “Red like she’s out for blood. Red like the not-quite-strawberry popsicles she’d suck on the Fourth of July, syrup sticky between her fingers. Red like her lips and cheeks after kissing too long in the cold of the drive-in. Not long enough. Not enough to be warm. Red.” He swallows, not sure if he should say the rest, but the dazed, thoughtful look on her face propels him onward, even as her gaze drifts down to her hands, his lips.

 

“Red like the color of her prince charming’s hair. Reddened like her eyes when he finds another one fair. Red as her knees, from stumbling up hills, her heart lined with blisters, her cabinet with pills. Red as the lines from her bra on her back. Red as aged wine, drunk, away from her pack. Red like a stop sign. Red like a beacon. Red like raw passion. A best friend, a woman, a cherry, a demon.”

 

His gut tightens harder as her gaze seems to drift further away, past him, past the words, into another universe. _His universe? Hers? Maybe it’s theirs. That night’s. That strange, magical night that things might’ve changed._

 

“Red like a candy all twisted in knots. Red like the strawberry, plump whipped cream in drops. Red like the skin when it’s stretched out too thin. A triumph, a ribbon, pretending to win. Red like a flower, rose blooming in grace. Red like a pen, slicing things on a page.” His tongue runs over his teeth, not sure when to stop. “Red like the wounds that we reopen daily. Red is the color most vibrant of Betty.”

 

There’s an angle to her chin. A quiet that follows as she digests the words, her mind almost audibly chewing. She’s gazing up at her bedroom window as if she’s trying to see what he did on those nights he’d pretend to be working in his garage. Wondering if it’s her, maybe. If his vision of her is real. If it’s right. But she’s always sort of known who she is, despite her insecurities and the facades her family is so fond of. Right now, her body seems to melt into pen strokes and fine watercolors, like she’s letting the impression sink in.

 

His passion. Hers.

 

“So. That’s that. From that night. Minor edits and what have you, but…yeah. That’s what I thought of you. That night.”

 

She nods, still lost in his gaze, like she’s transfixed by the reflection. 

 

“That...okay with you? I mean, hopefully, it’s not _too_ terrible. I meant it like--you seemed powerful. And different. But not.”

 

Her voice is quiet but sure. “Okay.”

 

“Okay?”

 

There’s a weird pendulum effect of her hips as she walks towards him, avoiding direct eye contact. He’s expecting a kiss. Or a hug. Probably not a slap.

 

“Hey!” he protests as her hand dips into his pocket, snagging the sheet from its sheath. She’s lucky he doesn’t spill his coffee on her in the upset. That he’s too distracted by the way her thick eyelashes guard her cloudy thoughts the same way her pastel curtains shield her room.

 

“Could I have it?” Her hands bend and smooth the poem, almost making it bow. A fleck of reddish-brown dots the page, but she’s twisting it so tenderly that he’s not sure if it’s from motor oil or coffee or something else entirely.

 

“Kinda late to ask, don’t you think?” He resists the urge to caress her cheek, to draw out a smile until it lights up her eyes because he’s still not sure what she thinks of it. “Did you want to mark it up or frame it or tear it to pieces?”

 

“Do you want me to edit it?” she asks, her voice strangely thick.

 

“No. This one--it’s not _for_ something, it was just for me. And, um, for you, I guess.”

 

If her shrewd gaze shaves him down any more he’s gonna get a rash of some kind. There’s something desperate welling between them.

 

“It’s not something I want you to work on, it’s just something that _is_.” 

 

“Oh.” Her fingers graze over the lines on the paper, refolding it carefully until the words disappear. “Okay. Do you want it back?”

 

“Seems only right you get to keep the original printed copy.” There’s the file on his computer, obviously, but he still feels his ears burn knowing she’ll have a copy of what feels like a love letter in her house, shoved in some drawer for her to look at when the days are dark and she wants to consume a piece of his heart.

 

Her body seems to right itself back to its more perfect posture as soon as the paper is tucked safely into her breast pocket. Not sure what to say, he opens his mouth only for this throat to squeeze shut as she gently cups the back of his neck and pulls him in for a tender, deep kiss. Their lips cling together for an extra beat, keeping the momentum going, drawing what could have been one sweet kiss into a lingering sentiment.

 

When she draws away, he feels a tug to go with her. Her eyes reluctantly open, flicking back down to his lips before removing her hands from his neck.

 

“We should move on to the study portion of our date.”

 

“Great,” he coughs, not sure if he wants to ask her more. How she feels about things. If they can keep kissing all afternoon despite their looming chores and homework. It’s still just the slightest bit weird. And early. And coffee.

 

About two hours into their homework session, they’re losing focus, his gaze constantly drawn to the way she anxiously taps her foot against her chair, the way his jacket sleeves delicately drape behind her, and the way her eyes keep hovering on his mouth whenever he gnaws on his pencil.

 

There’s no risk of Alice coming home until about 3 pm, but she does offer to bring them food from one of her restaurant reviews.

 

“You’ll be here that long?”

 

“Probably. Unless you’ve kicked me out for your nefarious weekend plans or to do all the homework through graduation.”

 

“I could use a break,” she admits, smoothing her hair back and tossing off the bandana to the side of the bed. He snags it immediately, the material still warm from her hair. “Did you want me to…?”

 

“What?” he asks, testing how stretchy it is in his hands. Wondering if it could keep her tied here.

 

“Repay the favor from earlier?”

 

His heart skips a beat. “Did you write something about me? Or did you want to…?”

 

She slides the heels of her palms along her thighs like she’s pushing something away. “I meant what we did in the dressing room. Would you like me to…?” Her eyebrows raise, gesturing to his pants.

 

There’s a twist of disappointment in his gut before wry amusement sets in. “Gee, you sure know how to set the mood. Wanna bang?”

 

“Not _bang_.” She plops down on the bed beside him, her whole body bouncing along with the springy mattress. “I thought...you might want that. I mean, it’s what couples do, don’t they?”

 

Snorting, he turns on his side to envelop her as much as possible for this strange conversation. “Ah, yes, obligation head. My favorite.” Her cheeks _flame,_ nails tracking into her own knees. He’d feel bad for embarrassing her, but it’s not exactly _arousing_ when she just plops the idea on the table like she’s offering him a sandwich. “Not _all_ couples go down on each other.”

 

“So, you _don’t_ want me to?”

 

“I never said _that_.” In fact, sometimes he daydreams about it. How her hair would feel in his hands as she bobbed against him. Her tongue might sign her name at his tip with big loopy swirls until she ripped his nerve endings out with the slightest graze of her teeth. There’s still the semantics of _where_ he could come. Where he’d even feel comfortable doing it. He’s never let anyone else down there and he kinda wants to be prepared so he doesn’t do something horrifying their first time.

 

Not that he _regrets_ distracting Toni with rants during the occasional instances they were alone and she tried to initiate things- or when he would say that he had to go so he didn’t have to deal with any awkwardness. But _now_ he doesn’t want to lie about it.

 

“Just if that kind of thing is going to happen, I’d want it to feel natural. Not like you don’t wanna do homework anymore so you might as well do me.”

 

There’s a visible struggle for her not to roll her eyes. “You’re not the second choice after homework, Jughead.”

 

“Am I at least in the top five?”

 

Her knee slides up on the bed, eyes big and worried. “You’re...you’re my boyfriend.” 

 

“So that means top three?”

 

The reassurance of her palm on his knee melts the layers sarcasm building up in his throat. “Juggie. There’s no _ranking_ system. We had to do homework, so we did, but I also promised you some sort of defiling after the football game.” His laugh feels weirdly melodic in his chest. Betty Cooper’s using words like _defiling_ in reference to _him_ and it’s absolutely fantastic. “I want to,” she protests, slapping his leg.

 

“Yeah. Sure.”

 

“Seriously. If we don’t now…” She glances at the window, worried and tense.

 

“What? What happens if we don’t defile one another just this second?”

 

“Well, we might not get the chance,” she says quietly, crawling a little closer. A prickly confusion spreads like ivy inside his chest even as her knees slide on either side of his leg.

 

There are a few seconds of quiet, and then Betty’s pretty gaze slides right into his soul, spreading his insides like cream cheese until he’s absolute goop. She kneels up, sliding her overall straps to the side. His dick flickers to attention. He’s strangely drawn to the curve of her forearms as she crosses her arms and pulls her shirt up and over her head, her hair gone wispy as she emerges from her functional cocoon to something he thinks might be romantic. Or primal. But there’s a method to her stripping, even as she unhooks her bra and dangles it off to the side, content to let him stare at her with slightly parted lips. Her fingers run over her breasts, pinching her nipples, but before he can completely melt into a puddle of need she carefully draws the straps back up.

 

Overalls. Just overalls. Maybe underwear. But even that’s a figment of his imagination. What if she hasn’t been wearing anything underneath this entire time and the denim between her legs has been giving her some _very_ nice friction? Contact no doubt as nice as the current abrasion to her pert breasts.

 

He _has_ to know.

 

But he can’t just _ask_ , can he?

 

“Betty. I was wondering…”

 

“Mmhm?” Her voice is so feminine, sensual, and pretty. Lids hooded, she angles closer to his face, close enough he starts to feel the edges of everything else blur.

 

This life’s become some nostalgic wet dream. But when the velvet of her lips catches his, everything sinks in as some kind of strange, wonderful reality. _Betty_ , his brain hums, caught in the familiar warmth of indulging the idea of her body pressed against his. He palms the side of her face, gently pulling at her lips, trying to ignore her hand burning its imprint on his thigh.

 

He wants to go nice and slow. It’s impossible, though. When he tries to pull her closer, he’s met with bare skin. _Betty’s skin_. He groans, his whole body surging with his heartbeat, with the desire to explore her entire expanse. His hands feel large, smoothing down her curved waist, thumbs gently pushing against her ribs until they get to the softness of her belly.

 

Their mouths make a gentle smacking noise amidst their hot kisses. Everything feels like a distraction, like quicksand. He barely even registers where her hands are because his thumbs are busy trying to catch on the buttons of her overalls with his eyes closed. When they pop free, he shimmies the denim down until her breasts are exposed and pulls his head back long enough to admire them. Perfect. Just... _perfect_. Even weighing them, palming them makes him feel euphoric enough to thrust upwards into oblivion like he’s powered on stardust and hormones.

 

“Juggie,” she pleads gently, rocking in his lap. His jeans are open, but she can’t access him easily. “I’m supposed to be going down on you.”

 

“Trust me, this _is_ for me.” He tweaks her nipples, watching her head fall back to expose more of her flushing neck. They grind together, his pulse climbing to new heights as his mouth fastens to her neck, her collar, down to her breasts where he sucks hard enough that she actually cries out. With a popping noise, he sets her flesh free and raises his arms so her insistent hands can pry off his shirt.

 

“Come here.”

 

She climbs closer, cradling his face and kissing him with abandon. He could come just from this. From being close to her. From grinding. From the feel of her breasts pillowed against his chest.

 

“Take everything off,” he begs, haphazardly tugging at her clothes as she shimmies off of him to actually remove things. He shoves and kicks at his pants until he’s naked for her, too, her eyes blown wide and fixed on his erection in a way that almost makes him proud of the organ he has so little control over in her presence.

 

“Juggie, let me--” His hand’s barely grazed her shoulder to pull her closer from the side (because he wants _heat_ , _hers,_ grinding against him) when she firmly grasps his dick and swipes her tongue across its head, a symphony of sparklers blocking any other thoughts to his brain.

 

“Betty…”

 

More confident now that his brain is engulfed in a fever, she climbs across the mattress and straddles his leg, her wetness rocking against his knee, chasing her own high while the darkness in her eyes and the hotness of her mouth rake him from the inside out.

 

A stream of curse words and moans pour forth as she works. How the _fuck_ does she know how to give such good head? Or is he just inexperienced? Or is it the magic of _Betty_? Of _them_?

 

She sucks particularly hard, her hand in tandem with her tongue, and his hips bolt off the bed. He can feel her smile, almost choking on a laugh, but he’s too far gone to care. Any semblance of the universe is contained to Betty’s mouth, Betty’s body.

 

“Betty…” He moans, his fingers seeking her skin, her shoulders, her hair. A vision. A mortal glimpse into heaven. “I’m gonna…”

 

She grinds more furiously on his leg, her own moans vibrating around his cock and shoving his brain past mindless bliss into soul-pounding euphoria.

 

As lightning migrates through his body it feels like it funnels into Betty. His conductor. His life. She keeps on him like this is a creation, determined not to let any spark escape her attention and experience as she keeps fueling his pyre.

 

When his soul returns to his body, his leg is coated in drying come ( _hers_ ) and his cock is still slick with her saliva. Betty wraps around his side, her lips slightly swollen and her body vibrating with adrenaline. Or maybe he tastes weird and she feels sick. But her hips rock gently and he gets the impression that she’s still seeking heat, seeking motion.

 

“You were amazing,” he whispers, and even though she shivers at every kiss, he wants to make her feel good. So he slips his fingers between her legs and tries to make her see the same stars she’d made shine so spectacularly in his universe.

 

~~~

 

With no uncertain grace, Veronica slips a shoe on from the heel strap, pivoting to check how flattering the dress is on her waistline. “So? How is everything in the land of Bughead?”

 

“It’s great, I think.”

 

Veronica crooks an eyebrow. “You _think_?”

 

“Well…”

 

“Because from where I’m standing you two are basically cake toppers waiting to happen.”

 

Betty’s breath hitches in her chest. She’d drawn ideas for their wedding cake when she was a kid, insane things like a burger tier and a strawberry-vanilla tier. Like those things would go together in any universe of cake. Although she’s sure Jughead would like it. Aesthetically, at least, and he’s not a picky eater.

 

Veronica fluffs her hair. “We should be writing Archie _thank you_ cards for the way things have worked out. I have a new best friend, you have a great old boyfriend, and we _both_ have amazing dresses,” she preens, bending her knee to accentuate the slit along her thigh.

 

“Yes, well, it’s not all a magnificent fairy tale,” Betty reasons, still gently tracing the inner line of Jughead’s jacket laid out just behind her on Veronica’s bed. At Veronica’s questioning gaze, she takes a deep breath. They are _friends_. “Our middle school breakup wasn’t exactly the easiest.”

 

“You said you weren’t ready, right?”

 

“Right. He was self-destructing about some family stuff at the time and I guess I was bothering him and he--he kind of broke my heart.” The wetness behind her eyes thankfully doesn’t migrate to her throat, but Veronica stops posing and sits next to her all the same. “It didn’t exactly come at the most fortuitous of times. My dad left pretty much right after. Mid-life crisis. Or just...generally _didn’t want my family anymore_ so...things weren’t great. They were really hard for a really long time. And Juggie was my best friend before that and I didn’t...I didn’t have anyone besides my sister, who still doesn’t see this all as something terrible. So I suppressed it and buried all these feelings and now it’s just...it’s hard, digging them back up again.”

 

“Okay, but that’s all the past, right? How do you feel about him now?”

 

“I…”

 

_I love him._

 

Betty hangs her head. “I’m afraid I’ve set myself up to be pushed away again. That if it wasn’t for the...muffins and the fact that we were graduating soon, he wouldn’t even have bothered. He has a built-in exit strategy, Veronica. We agreed.”

 

“Agreed to what?”

 

“That we’d probably go our separate ways after…”

 

“Graduation?”

 

Betty nods, a streak of wetness darting down her cheek. Swiping at it, she tries not to show how embarrassed she is, attempting a chuckle. “I know it’s stupid. I should just prepare myself for the inevitable.”

 

“It’s not stupid,” Veronica insists, taking her hand. “And it’s not inevitable. You’re scared of losing him again.”

 

Even the thought of it makes Betty cry with even more earnest, her shoulders shaking. Veronica tuts, rubbing her back, letting Betty leak her ridiculous insecurities all over her designer bedroom.

 

“I think you should talk to Jughead about this. I mean, he seems crazy about you. Has he given you any reason to believe he’s going to self-destruct or bail again?”

 

“N--no.” Her teeth are chattering in the effort to keep calm, to stop crying. “But why would he when he knows exactly how and when it’s going to end? Kevin told me I should just enjoy it while it lasts, but it’s hard. We keep doing things for each other and it makes me feel like this should never end, but he’ll barely even have to see me after we go to college. Maybe holidays, if he happens to look through his window or loiter in the driveway. If my family even _does_ holidays anymore. Oh and that’s if my mom doesn’t sell the house and his dad doesn’t move to be near JB. Like, then he _really_ never has to see me or hear my opinions ever again.” She chokes up, curling into herself.

 

“Betty. You don’t know that will happen.” The tone is killing her. Pity. She _hates_ pity. Being _pitiful_. Betty inhales deeply, looking up to the ceiling like her sorrow will just knowingly recede.

 

Tears won’t change anything.

 

“It’s fine. Things are great for now. I’m just--I’m worrying for no reason. Jughead’s _acting_ like he loves me, and that should be good enough for now.”

 

“Maybe he does love you. Or maybe he’s just insanely enamoured and having fun.” Veronica’s weight pushes Betty until she’s swaying back and forth. “But you won’t know if you just keep poking around in a graveyard of feelings. Talk to him. At least you’ll know where you stand. And keep in mind, if he’s a total ass, I will kidnap you to join my group for the Centennial and make play dates all summer. Which, to be honest, I was planning on doing anyway.”

 

Although a smile tugs gently on her cheeks, Betty can’t help but wish she hadn’t agreed to go to a party tonight so she could talk to Jughead instead. Enjoy whatever time they have left or get answers about if there’s the possibility for more. But she would never just abandon Veronica. That’s not something a friend or a decent person does.

 

“Do you think...I mean, would it be weird to invite Juggie to the party?”

 

“Not at all! You do your thing, I’m going to put on my party dress and put the Centennial showstopper away. Can’t spoil anything _too_ early,” she winks, pushing off the bed with ease before disappearing into her walk-in closet, her stockinged feet so quiet in comparison to her normal clacking heels.

 

Crawling back further onto the bedspread, Betty takes his jacket with her as she cues up his contact page with its endearing little profile picture of when he was pretending to be a spy in his bedroom.

 

“Are you _calling_ me in an age of text messaging?” Jughead teases, and for some reason, even his genial tone makes her smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure? I thought Veronica claimed you for the night.”

 

“She’s feeling generous, and so am I. We were actually thinking...maybe you wanted to come with us to the party tonight?”

 

His voice loses that warm quality, slightly guarded. “Where is it, even?”

 

“Reggie Mantle’s? On Cherry and Walters?”

 

“Uh...I dunno, Betts. As _generous_ as your offer is, I think I should probably sit this one out.”

 

“Oh. Yeah! I’m sorry, I thought--” She shakes her head. “Never mind, I just thought maybe you wanted to come.”

 

“I am all for coming with you. Just not at a party.”

 

“Then where do you--?” It hits her, and she rolls her eyes, an exasperated laugh rolling out despite her disappointment. “Now that we’ve started...is that all you’re going think about?”

 

“No, I think about lots of things. Maybe you could come over after the party and we could talk about them.”

 

Her fingers run into the seams of his jacket. “Yeah. I could do that. I like talking.”

 

“Then I guess I’ll talk to you later, Princess.”

 

“Bye, Stark.”

 

Even as his image fades from her screen, she feels the urge to burrow into his jacket and hold him close.

 

\---

 

The party’s fine and fun and Betty’s cheeks don’t hurt from holding a bright smile for everyone who comes up to her. She laughs at Veronica and Kevin’s pithy commentary, trying to ignore the pull in her chest that wonders if she’s so fond of it because it reminds her of someone else who always has something wry up his sleeve and on the tip of his tongue. And she can see why he wouldn’t want to come. The Bulldogs are rowdy in their own way that he’s probably not used to, even with his Serpent background. Besides, she’d hate to see a drunk Vixen try to dance with him or watch him get tense around drunk people given what he’s been through with his dad. And since he wasn’t close with anybody else here, she might end up having to hold his hand the whole time. That part doesn’t seem _so_ bad, but she’s sure Kevin would give her a hard time about it.

 

Or he _would_ if he could stop trying to seduce Moose Mason with his eyes.

 

“How’s the date search coming?”

 

“I’m hoping _he_ comes to _me._ ”

 

“Kevin,” she pouts, disappointed.

 

Looking around the party, Veronica fluffs her hair. “You can be your own date. It’s always worked for me. Most of the Vixens are going together. Although if Mantle plays his cards right he might get more than a dance...”

 

Betty blanches, not sure how to approach any of that subject before Kevin leans in, deadly serious.

 

“This is the _Centennial_. It happens once every hundred years. You can’t just take _anyone_. I’d like it to be a little more special than taking a gal pal or going stag. No offense.”

 

“And you’d rather hold out for Moose because…?”

 

“He’s taller?” Veronica’s tipsiness edges her laugh towards a bark.

 

“No. He’s…” Kevin scrambles, holding his chin high. “A statement piece. Moose Mason, high school stud and jock coming out to be on my arm would be the crown jewel in my high school experience.”

 

“Come on, Kev. Wouldn’t you rather go with someone who isn’t terrified to be seen with you in public?”  


He sighs, glancing from Moose, whose face is already half-obscured by a red solo cup, to where the cars are parked outside the Mantle house. “Yes, but--”

 

“You think Joaquin’s attractive, right?”

 

“ _Of course_ he’s attractive,” Veronica frowns. “Is that even a question?”

 

“It’s the dark hair and blue eyes,” Betty grins, looping her arm through Veronica’s in excitement.

 

“And don’t forget the chiseled _jaw_. That man could be made of granite.”

 

“So? What’s the problem?”

 

“He’s a Serpent!” Kevin protests. “My dad’s the Sheriff.”

 

“From what I know about him, Joaquin is the designated driver for every party, is a really hard worker, doesn’t deal anything, and generally a super responsible, quiet, and respectful guy who happens to wear a leather jacket.”

 

“That not enough of a challenge for you?” Veronica teases, teeth on the edge of her cup.

 

As Kevin tilts his head, considering the possibility, Betty tries to restrain a chain of reasoning Kevin may not be amenable to. But she can’t suppress her concern, especially considering his advice in relation to Veronica’s. “Weren’t you the one who said to enjoy the rest of our high school experience? Would you rather drag your date out of the closet or receive some serious heart eyes all night with someone who’s ready to be with you for however long you grace them with your presence? You’re a prince, right? So who do you want to be _your_ fun little frog?”

 

Kevin pushes his red cup into her chest, letting it splash up into her face, and storms across the premises to push back his perfectly coiffed hair and lean into the driver’s side window of Joaquin’s car.

 

“Take me home,” they hear him announce, the girls attempting to waddle across the grass to catch up with him.

 

“Okay,” they’re pretty sure Joaquin replies.

 

“Oh,” the girls gasp, halting abruptly when Kevin snags Joaquin by his long hair and pulls him in for a deep, messy kiss.

 

They look away, dissolving into quiet, embarrassed giggles as Kevin continues his attempt to remove Joaquin’s tonsils with his tongue.

 

There’s a wet sound of what Betty expects is their mouths separating, but she’s still too nervous to infringe on their privacy to look.

 

“Also, would you like to go to the Centennial dance with me?”

 

“O-okay.”

 

“Do you think it’s safe?” Veronica stage-whispers, still grinning wildly.

 

The sounds of the car door shutting and motor revving up send Betty into a panic. “Oh, shit. Wait!” she squeals, trying to catch up to Kevin’s grinning face and Joaquin’s shy little smile. “What are we gonna do? We’ve been drinking, and Joaquin is our only ride!”

 

“They’ll come back,” Veronica shrugs. “Besides, I can call mom for a car. Or just a car. Uber stuff.”

 

Feeling nervous, Betty tries to wind her anxiety down. It’s fine. It’ll probably be fine.

 

Ultimately, an hour later, almost everyone is drunk off their asses, Joaquin’s stuck in “traffic,” Veronica’s mom isn’t answering, and the party is decidedly _not fun_ anymore. She wants to get back early enough to actually spend time with Jughead before going to bed and she doesn’t want to call him to make him come all the way out to pick her up. Her mom is _not_ an option. But Veronica is entranced by dancing and the karaoke machine along with a gaggle of other like-minded Vixens.

 

When someone swoops next to her on the wall she’s perched herself against, Betty nearly jumps out of her skin. “Hey. How are you?”

 

It’s been a while since she’s actually _talked_ to Archie. Been the momentary focus of his warm eyes, even though his face is lined with worry.

 

“Um, fine. Just waiting for the designated driver to arrive.”

 

“You need a ride?”

 

“No. _No,_ ” she says, trying to play it off as not wanting to put him out instead of not wanting to be anywhere near him.

 

“Seriously, I had one beer when I first came like two hours ago and you live just down the block from me. It’s no trouble.”

 

“Arch, I don’t--”

 

“It’s the tiniest possible way I can make some stuff up to you,” he insists, jokingly wincing before giving her what she once considered a megawatt grin. “You’d be doing _me_ a favor by letting me make the gesture.”

 

With a big sigh, Betty turns where Veronica is eagerly putting together a playlist for what appears to be a cabaret night. “Let me just check with V.”

 

Swallowing hard, Archie nods, losing his smile. “I’ll be out by the truck.”

 

Sadly, Veronica is enthusiastic about Archie groveling and insists he comes back to the party to pick her up when she’s ready, which he begrudgingly agrees to. It feels weird and annoying to be in the truck with him again. Not like she’d ridden with him a _ton_ , they usually walked places, but still. The air feels sticky.

 

“So. You and Ronnie seem to have gotten pretty close.”

 

Noncommittal, she shrugs, texting Jughead.

 

**_BETTY:_ ** _on my way! :)_

 

“That’s cool. I’m, um, I’m really sorry again for how everything went down.”

 

She stares out the window at the random lights on inside the little houses, trying to guess how it feels inside of them. “I know.”

 

“Really. I mean, we were friends,” he tries, hand reaching out. “Sort of. I mean, we were building something but then I don’t know what happened and I--I didn’t really get how bad it was until everybody started telling me about it.”

 

Betty snorts. “Bad for you?”

 

“No! I mean, yeah. I lost both of my dates, and everyone told me what a jerk I was, but I meant in general. You’re really cool, Betty, and I’m sorry if I ruined your night or your dance or...everything.”

 

“It’s fine, Archie,” she sighs, waving him off. “Veronica even jokes we should be thanking you for bringing us together.”

 

He grins, almost _too_ brightly, so she hurries on with, “And really, I’m with Jughead now. I’ve never been happier, and without that humiliation you bestowed upon me, I might not’ve been able to get over myself enough to talk to him again.”

 

“You two seem really great together. Guess sometimes people come back together. It’s almost like you never broke-up at all.” Veins thrumming, Betty grinds her teeth against the urge to trace her scars in her palms. “I’m really happy for you.” Archie’s leaning over the steering wheel to study her, almost like he wants to make _sure_ she knows he’s being sincere. Her cheeks flex with something like a smile as she waits for them to get to her house. Tensing into himself as they approach her driveway, he asks, “So...we’re okay?”

 

His earnest hope earns a bit more of her dubious forgiveness. It’s not like he meant to be vicious, and he is sincerely sorry. “Veronica’s gonna make you run circles to even get a dance out of her, you know.”

 

“I know,” he laughs. “But I think it’ll be worth it. Friends?”

 

“Friends,” she agrees, reciprocating his brief hug before hopping out and shutting the door.

 

Jughead’s light is on, his worried face in the window, so she smiles and waves, half rolling her eyes in what she hopes is a signal for “Can you believe my night?” There’s an uneven twitch on his cheeks of what she hopes is a smile, and she makes her way to his door prepared for The Talk.

 

~~~

 

Her eyes are bright and her cheeks are rosy, whether from alcohol or excitement, it’s hard to tell. A knot forms in his stomach as he welcomes her in, noting how his jacket slumps down her shoulders.

 

“Got a ride with Archie?”

 

“Yeah. You wouldn’t believe the night I’ve had.”

 

“Enlighten me.” As she opens her mouth, he gestures to the fridge, hoping he can get there and upstairs before his dad intercepts them from the adjacent tv room. “You want some water? Tea?” He fishes around for the freshly-bought package with his free hand.

 

“Hm? No, I’m fine.”

 

“You should have some water.”

 

“Juggie, I’m fine,” she assures him with a smile, pulling his hand to either get him to listen or give her a hug. At least she seems pretty with it for having attended a Mantle party. Batting her eyelashes just accentuates how long and pretty and made-up they are as she leans in for what he assumes is a kiss.

 

“Betty! Long time no see!” FP announces louder than usual, probably so they spring apart.

 

“Mr. Jones. Hi,” she flushes, shuffling towards and away from Jughead’s side like she’s not sure where the most respectful, safest place to stand is.

 

“I heard you were working on Jug’s bike the other day. Nice work. Boy could use all the help he can get. Hell, if you ever get the impulse to work on my truck--”

 

“Thanks, dad. We’ll keep that in mind. Betty and I are going to work on my novel.”

 

His dad tenses, looking panicked from Betty’s house through the kitchen window to Jughead.

 

“What?”

 

“I, uh, just leave the door open, would ya, kid? It’s getting late. I wanna make sure Betty gets home okay.”

 

It’s not a request his dad’s ever made before so it strikes Jughead as _odd_. He takes Betty’s hand and offers his dad a derisive, “O-kay?”

 

Trying to shake off the lingering tension in his muscles, Jughead brings her upstairs for a bit more privacy, the sound of her heels on his stairs a weird thing to wrap his head around.

 

“So. Tell me about your _crazy_ night.”

 

“Well,” she huffs, peeling off his jacket to reveal some slightly sweaty, sexy skin. “Kevin _finally_ got with Joaquin.”

 

“Really?” He always thought Kevin was too pretentious to take a chance on a nice low-drama guy like Joaquin. 

 

“They’re going to the dance. It was kind of sweet. Except for the part where Kevin took offwith Joaquin and that meant no designated driver so I was stuck listening to drunk karaoke for like an hour before Archie offered me a ride.”

 

“Ah,” he nods, stomach uncoiling. “That explains the reunion.”

 

“Yeah! I mean, we cleared the air and made up and...I think it was good to talk about it. He apologized. And I...I feel like maybe this whole thing _was_ fate. Like maybe it’s time for you and me.”

 

“Time for you and me to what?” he asks, trying not to stare too long at the way her skin flushes, how animated her hands are.

 

“To talk.” Her gaze dances around the room with almost alarming concern. “About what really happened when you pushed me away. About the dance. About everything I’ve been feeling and want to feel and bury and...figure out how you’re feeling.”

 

He edges back on his bed, frowning. “Why do you keep bringing up what happened in the past? I thought we’ve moved on. You did reach out to me and we’re...in a good place now, right?”

 

“Right.” She hesitates, glancing towards the window and rubbing her hands together like she wishes she had a napkin to shred.

 

“Betts?”

 

“We are,” she insists. “I just...I need to know where this is going. I don’t want to go back to that place we went when we were kids.”

 

“What do you mean? What place?”

 

_The darkness?_ his inner monologue suggests. Because as far as he’s concerned their _new_ relationship’s been almost nothing but sunshine and she’s talking about it like they’re on the precipice of a storm.

 

Betty’s eyelashes flutter down, guarding her eyes with the same sheer vulnerability of her curtains in her room. “Most of the time, I don’t want to think about it either. I’m not blaming you for what happened. You probably didn’t know what was happening to me. Or maybe you did and you just weren’t able to handle it with everything else going on with you, but I just...I need you to know- and _I_ need to know. To finally be able to acknowledge it and be honest with you about how much passion our relationship has always entailed.”

 

“Enough to freak you out, apparently.” Her lower lip wobbles. A barb lies just under what he’d intended as teasing, and he’s not sure why his heart feels like it’s trying to claw up his throat and out of his body. He folds his arms to try and keep himself grounded, listening, even if he can’t quite look at her.

 

He thought things were really good between them. _Really_ good. Fantastic, even, so he’s not sure why she feels the need to talk about their relationship when they could be talking about anything. Not that he’s not _curious_ what she has to say, but his gut’s practically bubbling amidst the uncertainty.

 

Betty seems like she’s at a loss for where to begin, and it takes her long enough that he starts to squirm, bracing himself back on his mattress.

 

“I’m sorry. Say what you need to say. I can take it.”

 

For a few agonizing moments there’s only the sound of her steady breath. “During that self-destructive phase, as I like to call it, I think something happened to me, and it wasn’t just about us. I felt like I was losing you, yes, but I was losing everything.” 

 

He frowns, ready to protest, and then she opens her palms and his gut bottoms out. His mind is reeling, screaming, and it’s _his fault, it’s all his fault._

 

“I started doing things to make me feel in control, which _was_ annoying for you, I’m sure. I just...I cared about you. Plain and simple. I cared about what would happen to us when my depression and anxiety and your anger got to be too much for you. I started shredding paper and then I started doing other things, less healthy things, just to get me through the day. Hypocritical, right? There I was criticizing you for your high-risk behavior and I probably should’ve been in therapy myself. But I couldn’t help you and then I couldn’t even...you didn’t even want me as a friend anymore. You pushed me out. Right when I really...I really needed you, right around the time when my dad was leaving me.”

 

His throat bobs, unable to swallow around the metal ball of guilt in his throat. Even his nostrils flutter with the inability to breathe normally. She was lost. Like him. And all those toxic emotions their parents bombarded them with, the ones they might’ve slung at each other, pushed them further into the wilderness.

 

“After what happened with your mom, I’m sure you have an idea how that feels, but your best friend didn’t tell you to get lost. Your neighbor and sweetheart and _best friend_ didn’t throw you away when you got upset. It was like a void opened up, some kind of black hole where your house used to be, right next door. I couldn’t look at it. I couldn’t think about it. I just... _hurt_. All the time. I didn’t even have the luxury of falling apart. I had to pretend I was fine when you…you broke my heart, and I’m not sure it’s ever fully been put together again.”

 

Her gaze centers on the bedspread, glassy and foggy like she’s stuck in these horrible memories and suffocating him alongside them.

 

“You could do that to me again and I would probably let you,” she says softly, fingers loosely curled upwards like a delicate Renaissance painting he has no business touching. _Marking_. _The power_ she’d given him leaves him reeling. “You said I could’ve destroyed you back then, but for a long time I thought that you’d destroyed me. It took awhile for me to build myself back up. To try and prevent something like that from happening again.”

 

His lungs tighten, squeezing the air out of everything, and he’s not sure if he wants to scoot away to preserve her from the heartache or reach out and pull her to him.

 

“I don’t...I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

“I know, it’s just - it’s just really hard for me to believe that you’re going to stay instead of push me away again or straight-up bail, like my dad did. Kind of like you did.”

 

“Betty.” His voice bobbles in his throat. “I’m not an angry, imbalanced 13-year-old and I’m not an asshole going through some mid-life crisis. I’m your--” He’s about to say _best friend_ , but maybe that’s not as true as he thought it was and hasn’t been for a while. “I’m _me_. Don’t you trust _me_?”

 

“I don’t know. I want to.” Guilt practically leaks from her face, and she wipes it as soon as she feels it. “You’ve been amazing since we’ve started this whole thing, but I--but I’m still scared. About how much I feel for you and about how little you might feel for me. And maybe that’s crazy--”

 

“It _is_ crazy!” He draws his knees up, mood snapping like a whip. “I’m crazy about you. What exactly is it that I’m not doing that would make you trust me?”

 

“I don’t know!” she admits, shoulders pushing in towards her chest like she’s about to volley a ball or give herself up to handcuffs. “I guess part of it is that we had this agreed-upon end date--”

 

“Which is bullshit, so, next.”

 

“It’s not _bullshit_ ,” she glares, eyes hard and glassy. “It was a real thing and we never talked about it.”

 

His heart rate skyrockets, even as he scoots forward, legs spreading on either side of her on the bed. “Okay, I thought it was implied pretty clearly when I said I _never wanted you to stay away_ and then we hooked up _._ _Repeatedly_. Like, is that not clear enough to you that I want us to go beyond the Centennial date?”

 

Betty sniffs and shakes her head. “We were nowhere near the same page. I didn’t even know we were going to colleges right by each other--that extending this was an _option_. That’s why I wanted I wanted us to talk about this now. And your whole ‘aversion to intimacy’ thing that you said you had on top of all of _my_ hang-ups is making me crazy with what’s real and even real or... _normal_ anymore.”

 

“I threw myself at the mercy of a _football game_ for you. That’s not normal.”

 

“I know! You were doing all these things for me, and I didn’t know if by ‘symbiotic’ you meant mutually beneficial by service or by emotion.”

 

“Are you--what? You thought our dates were some kind of quid pro quo?” His veins chill and harden at even the thought of her doing things with him out of some bizarre sense of obligation instead of love. Or lust. He’d even take lust.

 

She shrugs, looking embarrassed, and horror twists in his gut. “That’s what I thought it might’ve been. I mean, it’s basically how we laid the foundation for our arrangement. I went to the Wyrm, so you came to a game. You took me out, I edited your writing. The more physical stuff was just--I thought that might’ve been mutually beneficial, I guess,” she blushes, pulling her skirt down around her knees only for it to pop back up again. “I wasn't sure you wanted it to be anything more than passions that happened to align for a few hours of the day.”

 

He runs a hand over his mouth, trying not to tremble or throw up or cause a scene. “A few hours? I don’t even know what to say. I mean, I did those things because I wanted to be with you. And yeah, if you did something nice, it’d make me feel good and want to do something nice too, but that was an emotional reaction, not some...tactical one.”

 

“Okay,” she nods, strangely uncomfortable.

 

“Did you _want_ to do those things with me?”

 

“Yes! Of course I did!”

 

“Because here I thought we had some kind of deep connection and you’re telling me that you still thought this was some kind of _arrangement--_ ”

 

“Maybe you just missed that kind of connection.” Her shoulders rise as her gaze darts away, like she's trying not to look just before jumping out of an airplane.

 

“What kind of connection? You mean me and you?”

 

“I thought...you and Toni,” she admits quietly, nails disappearing into his blanket.

 

His fingers creep past his hat and slick into his hair, so easy to grip and tug so he doesn’t hyperventilate and lash out. “I’m a fucking virgin, Betty.” Incredulous, she leans back. That _expectation_ just makes him angrier. “Just because Toni puts her shit out there doesn’t mean I was sampling it.” She flinches when he flicks his arms out but he can’t seem to stop himself. “Like I told you, me and Toni were basically nothing. Meaning we _did_ almost nothing to speak of because I didn’t feel anything crazy passionate about her beyond a kinship of being pissed off at _The Man_ , which is probably more than half of the reason she broke up with me. I thought what you and I were feeling and doing was something based in the realm of romantic...or...at least fondness.”

 

“I didn’t _know_ , Jughead! You dated someone a lot more experienced than me and I--well, _clearly_ that sort of thing didn’t mean you’d fallen deeply in love with her, so I had no idea what kind of emotions to expect on your end.”

 

“I never had that kind of connection with Toni, I told you that!”

 

“So how was I supposed to know that physical stuff with me meant something when the girl you dated, who walks around half naked, meant nothing to you?”

 

“I have never even taken off my beanie, let alone my boxers, for anyone but you. This _means_ something to me, Betts. You think I'm some kind of careless Lothario?”

 

“Jughead,” she pleads, tugging his hands from his hair and trying to lock their fingers together. What he wouldn’t give for an ounce of perspective and bravado right now to face her big, glassy eyes. “I gave myself to you physically because it was something we _both_ wanted. But I didn’t know if I was even allowed to want more than that, if sharing _all_ of me, the emotions beyond the lingerie, would push you away again. You just seemed so sure that we could have fun and I didn’t want to bring what time we had down by trying to burden either of us with labels and plans. We were supposed to just be enjoying what we had. I knew what I was feeling for you went beyond nostalgic fondness for what we were as kids, but I didn’t want to admit it without knowing how invested in this you were, too. Every time we started to communicate--”

 

He can’t believe what she’s saying. “What, like the physical stuff was getting in the way? I don’t just hook up with people, Betty. Neither do you. I thought that _said_ something.”

 

“It did. It does,” she sniffs, pulling her hands back to push her fists at her eyes. “I just--I wanted to be honest with you and clear everything up. Because I _do_ care about you. I care about _us_. I’m just...I remember what happened last time I thought we were in love and it all fell apart.”

 

Her ankle shakes nervously, and with a sick lurch, he notices her fingers lightly curl in her palms. A film of water glazes over his eyes as he reaches for her, pulling her fist down to smooth the ridges of her knuckles.

 

“Stop. Stop hurting yourself.”

 

She shakes her head, crying silently as a rage worms its way through his chest. “I’m not.”

 

“You can’t hold what I did as a fucked up kid over us like this. It’s not fair. I never wanted...I don’t _want_ the power to hurt you like that again. _Ever_. I _care_ about you, Betts!”

 

“I know.” Tears keep streaming down her face, and she seems to be trying to stabilizing her breathing, her fist tightening around his, but he can’t stop himself. Maybe he _does_ hurt her without realizing it or maybe that’s just what people do to each other but he _hates_ it. He hates this.

 

“It’s not fair. It’s not fair that Archie humiliates you and you forgive him two weeks later and I do something fucked up years ago and I’m still fighting for you to let me back in.”

 

“I know, but I didn’t care about Archie,” she whispers, her thumb hooking around his hand to keep him against her in some small way. “He didn’t break my heart. Never had it in the first place. You...you’re my first love. My only love, really, and I--” She breaks off in a choked sob, and he scoots a little closer, holding her hands together and kissing them as flames lick up his calves and spine.

 

There’s still hope. She still loves him. He _knows_ she does. And he loves her, too.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“No, I’m sorry, too.” Her voice is almost as wet as her cheeks, and he longs to wipe her face with his shirt, his hands, until she’s smiling and bright and this fissuring ache between them disappears. “I know it’s not fair, and that I’m the one who asked you to take a chance on me in the first place. Everything I feel for you can be...overwhelming and I wanted us to talk or at least know where we were headed because I want there to be an _us_. A real one. Not just for the dance or for passion, but because we want to be there for each other.”

 

“Betty…” He’s not sure what else to say, so he strokes her hands, her cheeks, lets her cry, even as his insides twist and churn. “I always want to be with you.”

 

Her lips struggle to find a smile, but it’s a real one, at least, even if it is quivering amidst shiny tears and pain instead of excitement and jubilee. Ducking her head into his shoulder, Betty hugs him, tight and true.

 

_I love you_ , he thinks morosely, still astounded that maybe that isn’t _enough_. He’d thought things were going so well. That this was some kind of aligning of the stars, and maybe it still is, just not the way he planned.

 

Betty hurt herself because of him. Physicalized her emotional pain and fake smiled through it all and he’d...teased her, attempting to get attention while she was burning up from the inside. For how long? How intensely? The only thing he’d been burning with lately was...ironically...passion.

 

_I love you_ , he wants to whisper against her shoulder, but he tugs her close instead, letting her rest her wet cheeks against his chest. As they gently stroke each other’s arms, he wonders what’s next.

 

“Hold on,” he mumbles, trying not to dislodge her too much as he reaches around her. A puff of affection swells up as he grabs his familiar stuffed animal and brings it between them, her eyes still wet and round and slightly in awe.

 

“Hot Dog?”

 

“Thought you could use a snuggle. For old time’s sake.”

 

“That’s so cute” she sniffles, face cracking into a smile that feels like a fond slap on the chest. “Come here.” Waving her hands, she eagerly pulls them both back down to her, snuggling side by side and facing one another on his pillow set.

 

Her fingers circle nervously on Hot Dog’s fur, Jughead mirroring the gesture on her back. Barely a murmur, the words “I love you” trickle over the space between them. Jughead’s hand stalls, wrist aching at the surprise that seems to grip him whole. Betty hides her mouth with Hot Dog, hugging him higher, eyes flickering up to Jughead’s mouth with a quiet shyness he hasn’t seen since their early days of kissing.

 

After the intensity of their other confessions, he’s not sure what to expect. To say back. So he leans over to kiss her forehead and falls back to plant a peck on Hot Dog’s head. He pushes his chin against the stuffed animal’s fur and tries to focus on Betty’s sincere, searching doe eyes when he says, “I love you too.”

 

Her smile lights up her whole face, the glow so strong that even Hot Dog’s floppy ears can’t contain the curve of pink.

 

In a flurry of kisses and smiles and maybe a few more tears and laughs, they settle back into the pillows, bodies pressed together, Hot Dog in between, and try to rest after the emotional day they’ve both just had.

 

A cautious creak of the stairs reminds him that FP’s home and probably still being weird. Tangled up in each other’s arms looking like they’re about to spend the night probably isn’t the most parental-friendly position to be found in, but he doesn’t want to let her go. He also doesn’t want his dad or her mom getting into their business any more than necessary.

 

“Betts. Let me walk you home.”

 

“Can’t I stay?”

 

He chuckles, tucking a stray hair behind her ear and wishing that he _could_ wake up like this, wrapped around Betty Cooper. “You know your mom would hunt us down with a harpoon gun. Or a really sharp pen. I’ll tell you what: You go home. Sleep on all this. And tomorrow, maybe we can talk about...if this is really what you want. Some childhood sweetheart who left some scars. Who might make new ones, I guess.”

 

“But I love you,” she whispers, so fragile and weak that it scares him a little.

 

“I know. But that doesn’t mean you can forgive me, or even that I’m good for you. People leave me for a reason.”

 

“No,” she whispers, holding him tighter. “I didn’t want to leave. I don’t want to now.”

 

It’s too much, and he’s forced to sniffle back his tears with the knowledge that he ever pushed her away. “You got hurt because of me.”

 

“I love you,” she repeats desperately, trying to kiss him.

 

“I know. I know.” He lets her kiss him before pulling her hands off of his clothes and kissing her strong, scarred fists. “Let’s get you home.”

 

The walk downstairs is heavy, each step thudding with what feels like the weight of the years. Of their fucked-up families. Of whatever stupid masks they’ve been wearing for years.

 

Outside, she shivers, clinging to his jacket and nervously glancing at the shifting curtains on each of their houses.

 

He leans in for a tight hug, squeezing as he whispers. “I know we can fix this. Please, Betts. _Please_. I’ll just--we can try to figure this out. Together.”

 

Her trembling hands work their way up his back and he’s so terrified he’s going to cry that he has to push his mouth down against her shoulder for a second. Voice trembling, Betty cradles him closer. “I don’t want the past to tear us apart.”

 

Taking a deep breath, he tries not to continue the argument that she shouldn’t _let_ it. He’s done everything he can to show her he’s in this and she’s still scared. Hell, now _he_ is. And while a big part of him wants to lash out and push her away to keep her safe, that’s exactly the awful kind of communication that lost her in the first place. She was honest with him. He’ll be honest with her.

 

“No matter what happens, I’ll still take you to the dance. Every princess deserves to go to at least one ball with an escort, even if he is a frog.”

 

At her genuine, sentimental smile, he oozes with guilty adoration. “A frog _prince_.”

 

Nodding, he leans in, trying to live up to the gentlemanly behavior. “I love you.”

 

“I love _you_.”

 

They stamp two more kisses to seal the promise before she runs upstairs, his coat bouncing on her back. He waits outside until he sees her bedroom light turn on.

 

The curtains don’t open and his hands feel empty so he shoves his fists in his jeans and thinks about camping out in the treehouse until things are right again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TO BE FAIR--that could've been a lot angstier than it was. We got some big Bughead moments this chapter! How are you? Fav scenes? Visuals of red thus far? Any guesses for how Bughead resolve things in the final chapter? You know I love speculation and comments and thank you so much for so many lovely thoughts thus far


	6. I'll love you forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! Everything on the table! Gosh, I hope you like it.

Dodging Alice’s invasive line of questioning is easy. Natural. Embracing the evidence of the lifetime spent loving Jughead Jones is a lot harder. The drawer with his essays, his little notes, his love and loathing and teasing and just...his heart. Most recently, there’s the poem. _Red_. But there are photos, too. Photos that even years after never managed to get pulled down off her mirror to be forgotten. Moments where his long-suffering glare at the camera is offset by her beaming smile, her arms wrapped around his neck and his hands on her waist. There are kisses on cheeks. A well-loved stuffed cat on her bed. Even the contact photo on her phone of his flashing little smirk right after they’d dressed him together for the protest, before they tumbled onto his bed in a flurry of emotion and need.

 

None of these memories are more important than the others, are they?

 

The setlist for the Centennial’s been on repeat in her room, and her heart clenches as the song rotates into the Pussycats’ cover of _Keep On Loving You_. Their first “date” of the new relationship, where they were curled around each other and declaring they’d be honest and fresh and... _good_.

 

_~You should have seen by the look in my eyes, baby_

_There was somethin' missin'_

_You should have known by the tone of my voice, maybe_

_But you didn't listen_

_You played dead, but you never bled_

_Instead you laid still in the grass, all coiled up and hissin'~_

 

Taking a deep breath, she wanders and tries to digest everything woven in her brain, fingers kneading into his sleeves. With a tangled, heavy heart, she pulls out her diaries and begins to skim. There was so much _hope_ when she was a kid. But even then she used to worry about everything. Thunderstorms. That she’d never be as cool as her sister. That Jughead would make the treehouse ‘Boys-Only’ and she’d have to try twice as hard to prove she was just as good at playing pretend and saving the world as everyone else was. But he always reassured her and made her feel safe to take risks, to climb higher, explore further, dig even deeper into something she loved.

 

Until he wasn’t. And she had to learn how to push herself in a different way than he did and even than her parents did. To shove her feelings aside, to shut down parts of her brain and her heart that hurt her. To pretend everything was perfect before everything that wasn’t suffocated and buried her.

 

It’s a skill. A way to cope that doesn’t involve a treehouse or a boy with bright blue eyes, and she needs that. Probably needs something better.

 

Rubbing her forehead, Betty grabs her water bottle in the hopes she can stave off a headache.

 

Even though it wasn’t perfect, she _did_ take care of herself. Could do it again if she had to. Dust herself off, cry out her pain, or go on a shopping spree with Veronica Lodge, who seems like an honest-to-goodness amazing friend to have.

 

Now Jughead’s encouraging her again, half of their memories sullied by burying and shoving aside what could have been something beautiful. She _loves_ him. She’s not sure she can ever _stop_ loving him. Let her blood and tears stay in the pages of her diaries of the past, smearing the ink until it’s barely legible, even if it’s never quite wiped away. There are also tender memories.

 

Under the soft light of her bedside lamp, Betty deciphers the story of love and heartache and tries to make sense of an ending. Of a future. And she writes.

 

_~'Cause it was us_

_Baby, way before then, and we're still together_

_And I meant_

_Every word I said_

_When I said that I loved you I meant that I loved you forever~_

 

She only vaguely registers how compressed and heavy her face feels when her alarm starts going off. On instinct, she shuts it off.

 

Just a few more minutes of uneasy rest before the words and dreams stop churning so harshly in her head.

 

The Centennial playlist is still going but the room has much more white light filtering through the curtains when she’s conscious enough to open her eyes.

 

She jerks up with a start when she sees the time. Those few minutes of shut-eye must’ve morphed into some serious napping. Cursing herself, she hops in the shower and attempts to brush her teeth and wash her hair at the same time. There’s no time for breakfast. Not even drying her hair.

 

_Being you must be exhausting_ , she hears Jughead tease in her head. A bubble of laughter works its way up her chest.

 

She tries to picture that voice in a year. Five. Ten. And while it gets more abstract the further she goes, she _can_ imagine it. Him. With her. Wanting to make her smile or relax or be comforted instead of being _annoyed_ by her worrying. Of course, that might slip in once in a while. But generally, yes. She can hear it. Can feel it. Love. Respect.

 

And if things fade...well...she’s not going to bury things anymore. She’s going to build on them.

 

As she’s shimmying into her underwear, she hears his motorcycle whir to life in the garage. Practically hopping to the sill, she nudges aside the curtain. His head’s down. Helmet on. Trying to side into a skirt with one hand, Betty pushes the window open. “Jug!”

 

With her music and his bike, it’s no wonder he can’t hear her.

 

Cursing, she stuffs her diary and books into her bag and practically long-jumps down the stairs.

 

“Excuse me, young lady, we do not put our weight on the banister.”

 

Betty rolls her eyes, stuffing her feet in her still slightly dirty Keds. “Sorry, Mom. I’m running late.”

 

“I know. I heard your shower go off, so I took it upon myself to tell that young man of yours to go on ahead when he came knocking at the door. Is he being a bad influence on you? It’s not like you to oversleep. Just because you’ve gotten into Columbia doesn’t mean you can start slacking.”

 

“Wait, what? Jughead isn’t a bad influence.”

 

Alice plucks her glasses from her nose, eyes narrowing in preparation for a verbal spar, but Betty's too distracted to gear up for a fight by Jughead’s bike roaring past and away.

 

“No,” Betty groans, body curving in annoyance. She has to talk to him. Touch him. Assure him that she can handle this and she’ll go to therapy if it means they have a stronger base to keep building on. That she won’t fall at the first sign of a fight.

 

As she unlocks her phone to call him, she sees a text chain that makes her bones stiffen.

 

**_JUGHEAD:_ ** _You running late, Betts?_

**_JUGHEAD:_ ** _Or do you need some time?_

**_JUGHEAD:_ ** _Nvm your mom just told me to go ahead._

 

Urgently, she slides her fingers across the screen.

 

**_BETTY:_ ** _Overslept, I’m on my way_

 

“Mom, can you drive me?” For a moment, Alice looks like she's about to nag her again, and Betty feels an inkling of understanding for why Jughead was so annoyed by her desire for him to be his best self as a kid. “You know what? It’s fine. I’ve gotta run.”

 

“Elizabeth, you will not run to school like a madwoman, especially not in a skirt. Give me a few seconds and I’ll grab my keys.”

 

Amidst a bunch of grumbling about interrupting _writer’s workflow_ and shoving “emergency makeup” from the glovebox into Betty’s hands, Alice does get her to school.

 

“Be safe. Learn things! Oh, and have fun!” she adds, already an afterthought, fixing her eyeliner in the mirror with a shrewdness that betrays she’s looking beyond at a potential story.

 

“Thanks.”

 

Running up the stairs two at a time, Betty checks her phone, but still hasn’t gotten a reply. In fact, she doesn’t see Jughead anywhere. She tries calling him and haphazardly passes by their classroom but he’s not there either. Confused, she goes to her locker to rearrange her books for the day, finally catching sight of his familiar beanie amidst the scrambling students such as herself who only have a minute to get to class.

 

“Juggie?” she calls, and stops short when the crowd parts enough for her to catch sight of pink curls indicating Toni’s walking with him, a few of the other Serpents close behind.

 

_It’s fine,_ she thinks, taking a deep breath. Jughead wouldn’t throw her over for being scared. He’s in love with her. Toni’s just...someone he kissed once upon a time. A surly girl who happens to think girls who tie up their hair are the embodiment of someone under the influence of _The Man_.

 

As she power-walks closer, she picks up part of their conversation.

 

“So where’s Ponytail today? Had enough of the leather and metal treatment and back on her preppy high horse?”

 

“She had to do something for her mom,” he says derisively, slamming his locker shut. “And I’d appreciate it if you stopped talking shit about her.”

 

“What shit?”

 

“Preppy, Ponytail, implying that she’s some evil corporate Barbie out to suck people’s souls.” His hands wind out in frustrated exasperation, Betty falling behind a few steps in self-preservation just as much as surprise. “You don’t like her. Fine. I get it. _She_ gets it. Everybody gets it, but you need to _get the fuck over it._ We’re together, which means she and I are a package deal when it comes to the Serpents and Riverdale High.”

 

Toni scoffs, folding her arms across her chest. “I don’t have to like your girlfriend.”

 

“No, you don’t have to _like_ anyone, but unless you want you and I to have a problem, you’re going to respect us enough to keep your mouth shut.”

 

“Good luck,” Sweet Pea grumble-chuckles.

 

Jughead smacks his arm, glaring back at Toni as the Serpents stalk through the halls. “I thought you wanted us to be _friends_ -ish since we’re still in the same gang. You could start by calling Betty by her name.”

 

“Psh. As a _friend_ , I’m going to keep calling _you_ on your bullshit.”

 

“Here we go,” Fangs mutters, scratching the back of his head as Jughead takes a steadying, aggravated breath. “Can’t you leave it alone?”

 

“No. If you knew your girl _Betty_ was so busy with her mom, why were you waiting for her down the block?” When he turns away, jaw clenched, Toni’s tone is almost _bemused_. “Trouble in paradise? I can’t believe she’s got you waiting around for her to grace you with her presence.”

 

“Juggie!” Betty interrupts, flashing a not-so-apologetic smile as she pushes through the Serpents to throw her arms around his neck. The rigidness of his frame melts into her, arms immediately wrapping around her waist for a hug. “I’m so sorry about my mom.”

 

“It’s good to see you,” he murmurs, nosing the edge of her ear.

 

Squeezing harder, Betty falls back onto her heels and flashes him a small, relaxed smile before brightening it for his friends. “Thank you for accompanying my boyfriend to class this morning. In all the rush of the day I didn’t get a chance to grab any breakfast. How about after first period we run to the cafeteria and get something?”

 

“A woman after my own heart.” He pulls her in with the crook of his elbow, hovering close to her temple before decidedly placing a kiss upon it. The stamp of pressure makes her blink happily.

 

“It’s too early for PDA,” Fangs whines jokingly. “Like Joaquin and Kevin holding hands wasn’t enough.”

 

Sweet Pea scowls at the people working their way through the halls. “The Centennial has people pairing off like it’s Noah’s Last Stand. What happened to going stag?”

 

“You’re just jealous Fangs got a date,” Jughead offers, rubbing a spot on Betty’s waist that makes her sigh and relax. Starting the day with a hug from him already makes the morning better, even if they are walking with his friends. At least they’re treating her like a person instead of a preppy princess when she’s tucked into his side.

 

“Broke our code,” Sweet Pea grumbles, walking ahead so he’s not in line with Fangs.

 

“Wait up!” Fangs scurries after him. “Don’t be jealous, man, we’re still riding together.” 

 

Quirking an eyebrow, Betty turns to Jughead’s tired, fond face. “Drama in the Serpents Centennial arrangements?”

 

“We’re a very emotional bunch,” he shrugs, rubbing her shoulder and stepping back so she can walk into class first. Toni slides past both of them and stomps into her seat.

 

“What’s her problem _now_? Upset more people want to go to prom instead of a protest?”

 

“I don’t know.” He sighs, his hand trailing across her back and leaving warm waves in its wake. Her whole body is practically vibrating with anticipation, even as the shrill bell rings overhead.

 

As they slip into their desks, she swivels to look at him. He blushes and rearranges his homework, glancing up every once in a while.

 

“Were you waiting for me this morning? After my mom told you to leave?”

 

He reaches back and scratches under his hat. “Um, yeah. I just went up ahead so she wouldn’t see me around the block. Then I saw her car, though, so...I kinda had to book it to make it on time.”

 

Staring at him for a few beats, the whole world has this certain softness to it. The warm glow of the morning sun. The giving edges of his beanie, the gentle curl of his dark locks.

 

“I love you,” she says, the words floating on air.

 

His eyes widen, fingers still loosely gripped on a pencil.

 

“I...love you too.”

 

It’s probably horrendously affectionate-- _intimate_ in front of all these people, but she wants him to know. That it’s not a show. It’s not a trade. She won’t be as afraid anymore. She loves him.

 

Class starts soon after, so she keeps the swirly love in the back of her mind and faces the front of the class, aware of every time his knee brushes the back of her chair, every stroke of his fingers through her hair.

 

“You two are _sickening_ ,” Sweet Pea tells them at the end of class, passing by their desks. Jughead smirks like Sweet Pea has some sense of humor that Betty isn’t privy to yet, but that doesn’t matter.

 

“You ready to grab breakfast?”

 

“Always. Besides, I can be late for gym,” he shrugs, hand already at her back before she’s even fully out of her seat. “Can’t get into _too_ much trouble, though. I promised you dancing and good behavior.”

 

Giggling, she knocks into his side and quickly selects a few filling options for breakfast. Jughead spreads his legs wide before settling on a bench, taking smaller bites than usual of his breakfast in what she thinks might be an adorable attempt to keep his mouth free for talking.

 

Legs tucked under a plastic-coated bench, Betty turns her knees in until they’re touching his thigh. “I wanted to give you something.” He swallows, his sharp blue eyes fluttering down to her hands clasped in her lap as if he’s checking her mental state. A bubble of anxiety wallows up in her stomach, but she’s fine. Actually fine, not just thinking a numbed detachment into existence.

 

“After our talk last night, I started rereading some of my diaries.” He stiffens, nostrils flaring, so she places a hand on his thigh to reassure him and his wild imagination. “They might have contained the worst things that ever happened to us, but...they also contained the best.” The fear wobbling behind his eyes doesn’t dissipate, not even as she lets the ropes that have tied down her heart slip free. Reaching into her bag, she procures her latest diary, one that started at the end of this past summer, and holds it out for him. “This is for you. Our most recent adventure, as told with complete honesty to the impartial pages of my diary.”

 

Goosebumps prickle across her skin as he takes it from her, his sharp gaze searching her for everything she is, and maybe everything they could be. She takes a deep breath, relaxing and sliding closer now that everything’s in place.

 

“I can’t promise I won’t still get nervous about us, but...I got through the worst of it. I feel... _good_. Better. If these pages are anything to go by, I’m going to be in love with you my entire life. I can forgive you, and I do. I think both of us are better prepared for wherever this takes us, but I’m hoping--and I’m willing...to make that future with you.”

 

“Betty Cooper…” Jughead’s lip twitches into a smile, gaze dragging bashfully from the diary in his hands to her face. “Are you proposing to me?”

 

There’s a playfulness there, not quite teasing, though. He’s _pleased_. A wry little retort wriggles out, probably due to his influence “Yes. Obviously, Jughead Jones. Marry me.” Just as his cheeks stretch in a laugh, she tacks on the more tame, “Or can I interest you in being my long-term boyfriend? Frog Prince? Best friend and forever date?”

 

“Only for you, Princess,” he grins, leaning forward to cup his hand around the back of her hair and kiss her soundly right there in the courtyard bench. The warmth spreads from under his touch, caramelly and soft. As they part, the sparkle in his eyes dims just enough for her to catch his slight frown. The concern. “Are you sure this is okay? That we’ll--that this won’t hurt you again?”

 

“Juggie, you’ve been nothing but supportive since we got back together. Unless you’re planning on pulling the rug out from under me in some elaborate bait and switch--”

 

“I’m not,” he clarifies, which earns him a patient sigh.

 

“We’re good. With all the knowledge and support we have now, I think we’re finally ready to handle this--the crazy power of _us_. If things get tough again, we can face it together. Right?”

 

“Right,” he agrees, his satisfied exhale fanning out across her face. They kiss, losing themselves in their tender makeout session until her mouth is practically pulsing and numb and someone coughs nearby.

 

Giggling, they both break away.

 

“Stop dragging me into trouble, you bad influence.”

 

“Well, Stark, at least this time I’m a rebel with a worthy cause.”

 

He grins, pulling her forward for another kiss. “Keep talking like that and we’ll never get to class.”

 

Forcing himself to get through the rest of the school day without reading her diary is absolute torture. His fingers keep pushing at his slightly swollen lips, knee jostling under every desk just waiting for the bell. At lunch, he tries sneakily opening it under the table, but he’s so distracted that Joaquin almost catches a glimpse of its pages.

 

“What’cha reading?”

 

“Nothing,” he lies, snapping the cover closed.

 

With a slightly bemused, dubious expression, Joaquin raises his eyebrows.

 

“None of your business,” Jughead amends, shoving the diary back in his bag and a handful of chips in his mouth. After inhaling his food, he tries to excuse himself to read under a tree in the courtyard. Alone. Which is why he almost starts rolling his eyes when a few pages in someone approaches him. “Whaa-aat do I owe the pleasure, Princess?” he drags, once he realizes who it is.

 

A tender smile on her face, Betty presses in next to him, his arm automatically wrapping around her shoulder to bring her close. “I kind of want to be with you when you read it.”

 

“You do?”

 

“Yeah. I mean, it’s a little long to read in one lunch period, but if you have any questions...or need reassurance that things get better, I want to be there for you.”

 

He sighs, glancing back at the words on the page as her head comes down on his shoulder, her hand warm on his thigh.

 

_Dear Diary,_

 

_Kevin insisted we go to the pool to scope out the social scene, but I’m pretty sure he just wants to check out the lifeguards. Although he does have a great set of abs, Archie’s so vigilant about people-watching that he forgets to put on sunscreen. Sometimes his shoulders burn as red as his hair. Ouch! Kevin keeps saying I should offer to put sunscreen on for him, but that feels way too much like the preamble to a porno._

 

_Afterwards, Archie and I shared a banana split while Moose and Kevin drank their separate milkshakes (and they’re still being weird, diary. I don’t get why they can’t just date like normal people if they’re both into each other). Even though the strawberry part’s my favorite, it was so disarming to see Archie dig into the chocolate with that much gusto that I had a flashback to when Jughead would practically drool over my portion once he’d finished his, sneaking his spoon in for more bites until I’d have to push him away with my shoulder or give up and share my half._

 

_Of course Jughead made some condescending comment about flotation devices while licking his ice cream cone in the most obnoxious way a person possibly could, staring me down like he wanted me to acknowledge his little jokes even from a booth away. I think he’s switched to cones so he doesn’t have to share with anybody, including his girlfriend. She’s awful, by the way. Perfect for him, I guess, since she’s the absolute opposite of me. Barely participates unless it’s to rant about politics, frowns and scowls at almost everyone she meets, and probably doesn’t care at all what anybody thinks. Even Jughead._

 

_Maybe that’s good for her. And maybe dating someone a little mean is good for him._

 

_Whatever. It’s none of my business, diary. If they want to have ice cream and complain about the “sterile chemicals” in chlorinated water, they can. I, for one, refuse to be miserable._

 

“Harsh, Betts,” he chuckles, swallowing thickly. “Although I can’t say you were wrong. Watching you share a sundae with Archie may not have brought out my best side.”

 

“Jealousy doesn’t suit either of us. But we came around.” 

 

Having her situated so closely into his side does make reading some of her unfiltered thoughts a little easier until the bell rings. With a kiss on her head, and then her insistent, eager lips, they have to head back to class. Although he’d love to wait in the student lounge and read her diary after school while she finishes up a meeting about the Centennial, he knows Sweet Pea and Fangs will just try to pluck the pink journal from his hands, and he definitely doesn’t want _them_ knowing what’s in Betty’s head. 

 

**_JUGHEAD:_ ** _Text or call when you’re ready to be picked up. I’m gonna hide out and catch up on my fav author ;)_

 

Betty just sends back a heart emoji, but texting during a student council meeting just for him makes him smile anyway. His sweet little rebel.

 

Asking Alice to wait in Betty’s bedroom so he can get the full experience of imagining how she felt while writing her most intimate thoughts is probably not going to earn him any brownie points, so he goes for the next best thing and crawls up the treehouse so his dad won’t bug him about homework. His and Betty’s little hideaway.

 

Balling up his jacket for back support, Jughead leans in and opens the diary, skimming across the entries so he can get the gist before going back to sink into every thought she’s given him.

 

_Dear Diary,_

 

_Maybe my family has finally driven me insane. When I woke up and saw Jughead outside my window I thought I’d entered an alternate reality where maybe we’d never broken up. Where he was nice and excited to see me. But no. The one we’re living in is based on a mutually beneficial exchange of services. There’s no one else I’d trust to do this with. Even if he’s broken my heart once, he can’t do it again if I don’t give it to him, right? We’ll dance and date and sharpen our wits, and then we’ll amicably break up and go on our way to college. Separate lives. Just like he wanted._

 

_No matter how crazy he makes me, I’m determined to give him the same treatment. Kill him with kindness. And maybe a kiss. (if he doesn’t kill_ _me_ _first)_

 

“Damn, Betty,” Jughead mutters, wiping his mouth. There are other entries detailing her surprise at his kindness, her conflict over what’s for show, what he’s sacrificing, that her heart is walking out of her chest without her and opening itself like a target for him to burn. There are even parts she questions their original breakup, if she should’ve been more honest and angry or kind and patient. That maybe they could’ve had longer, hurt less. But ultimately, she knows they can’t change the past. That she feels strong again, that _they_ feel good again.

 

_Dear Diary,_

 

_I think I’m in love with him. I think I always have been._

 

The creak of the treehouse ladder startles him, knees jerking back to his chest and pages fluttering against his heart.

 

“Juggie?”

 

He lets out a breath, tension dribbling out his body and dancing in his veins. “Betty. You scared me. I thought you were going to call when you got out of your meeting.”

 

“I wanted to surprise you,” she beams, brilliant blonde ponytail popping into view. “Joaquin had stayed to take Kevin out after and they offered me a ride. I figured I’d give you some extra time for reading. How’s it going? Better than _Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance,_ I hope?”

 

His arm instinctively reaches out to help her crawl forward, but she seems to manage on her own. Heart pounding hard, he tries to swallow. “You know it is.”

 

“Good. Good.” Smoothing her palms against her legs, she can’t quite manage to look up at him.

 

“Betty?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I _love_ you.”

 

“I love _you_ ,” she answers cautiously, studying him for a response. 

 

Winding their hands together, Jughead places the diary to the side and looks her in the eyes. “Betty, your diary is basically _The Notebook_. When I’m old and gray you should read that to me so I can fall in love with you all over again.” She giggles, all charm and sunshine. “I’ll read you my bad poetry and essays and your can critique them with fresh eyes and I’ll thank you for it. But also…” he takes a deep breath, takes an even bigger leap from the half-hearted joke. “Our love story is better than that. It’s here. And you’ve...given it to me.” Throat tight, he swallows. “I love you. I trust you. I always have. Thank you for sharing this with me. Thank you for being you again, and letting this...be _us_.”

 

“Thank you for building us up again,” she says softly, fingers grazing his chin, eyes drifting carefully to his lips. “Thank you for being someone I can trust and love and...make a future with.”

 

“I love you, Betty Cooper.”

 

“I love you, Jughead Jones.”

 

The repetition feels _good_ , as does the natural gravity that rocks them together, their fingers gently cupping each other’s cheeks. Her lips are so soft. He treasures each moment, each kiss, trying not to let his pulse skyrocket when she opens her mouth and kisses him more aggressively pushing at his shirt. Even though his elbow bangs into the wall, he keeps shedding every layer she pushes at, even hoisting his undershirts off along with her eager hands. Nothing matters except keeping up the pace of their kiss, matching the movement of her hands and tongue.

 

“Betty,” he pleads as she pulls back to fumble at his belt. He’s begging, not even sure for what. Gut instinct wants her touching him. All of him. She pauses long enough to kiss him, silence and sate his pleas before tearing herself away one more time to shift out of her shirt, snap off her bra. He helps her guide the bra down her arms, pulling her forward for another kiss, but she doesn’t sit on his lap, she keeps holding his face. Kissing him, _kissing him,_ kissing him until it’s all he knows, until his pants are uncomfortably tight and the his skin feels warm and fluid.

 

“Jug,” she urges, crawling forward on her knees with a scraping noise he’s sure will leave her knees pink.As his hand reaches down with the intent to be a barrier between her skin and the floor, Betty leans forward on him and grinds so perfectly along the edge of his zipper that he can feel how wet she is through the denim.

 

“Betty. _Fuck_.”

 

“I want you.” Her voice is velvet and he’s absolutely drowning in it.

 

With open, sloppy kisses, he fumbles under her skirt, trying not to jerk up and rut to a messy finish before she gets what she wants. Everything’s slippery and warm and perfect and he groans against her, rubbing and sucking her tongue against his in time to the channel his fingers so tenderly caress from the inside.

 

“Please,” she murmurs, rocking back forth as their bodies get slick with dewy sweat. “Please, I need more. I need all of you.”

 

Eyes squeezing shut, he fights against the white stars and throbbing need swimming up inside of him. Pumping his fingers desperately, he tries to widen and prepare her for him, his brain not fully caught up to the scenario. He just feels her tightening heat. Her breathy kisses on his face and neck. A throbbing pulse between his legs, at his fingertips.

 

“Fuck, Betty, I need you to come for me.” With a little gasp, she directs him to hit just the right spot that has her chanting his name and tightening around his fingers in rapture. She’s so beautiful. So perfect. His free hand runs down her back, calming her, shushing her, stroking her hair. “I love you so much.”

 

Dazed in the aftershock, Betty rests her face on his bare shoulder. “I love you, too. But don’t you want--I want--I want all of you, Juggie.”

 

He looks around the small cabin. “In here?”

 

“Yes. Give me…” He inhales sharply as her hand snakes under the waistband of his jeans, stroking his needy flesh. “Give me everything. I’m on the pill. I just want you inside of me.”

 

They both shimmy with her underwear. When he realizes how long it’s going to take just to get her off of him enough to get her legs free, he mutters, “Fuck it,” and reaches into his boot for his switchblade. Eyes wide and dark, Betty’s lips part as she watches him flick it open, his jeans splayed open in front of her. “Betty, do you trust me?” he asks, voice silky and thick with desire.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good. My good girl,” he praises, chills running down his arms as he gently shifts her up, raising her skirt almost up to her midriff so he can slide the edge of his blade between her underwear and her skin. Gasping, Betty tilts her head up. Eyes closed, chest pink, she looks like she’s praying with him. Worshipping them. He saws off one side of her panties and then the other, viciously turned on by the way her hands anchor in his bare hair. Letting the cool metal run along her thighs, he grips her sopping wet underwear in his hands and rubs her through it one last time, savoring her shivers and moans until power is thumping in his veins and he rips them aside. The smell of her arousal hits him hard.

 

“Yes,” he sighs with veneration, gnawing on the skin of her neck, kissing and holding her as she tries to wriggle down his jeans just by clamping her thighs around him.

 

By some miracle they’re able to part long enough to shimmy his jeans and underwear down enough to free his erection, his gaze unable to stray from her lips. “Whatever you need,” he promises, stroking her back as she slides against him. It’s too much and not enough. The urge to jerk upwards is so fierce that he has to wrap a hand in her hair and tug just to focus his energy somewhere else than the waiting warmth of her sex.

 

Thankfully, she’s merciful, and edges down onto him with efficient urgency. They both clench closer to each other at the newness of the feeling. The tightness. There’s a certain vulnerability between both of them that makes him whisper assurances against her skin, stamping kisses where he can. They’re anchored.

 

“I love you,” she says, voice the tiniest bit broken, nails gently pressing crescent moons into his skin.

 

“God, I love you too.”

 

Slowly, torturously, she moves. It drags every bit of conscious thought out of him, her name a mantra chanting in his head, hips gently thrusting up as he tries to help her stay with him in whatever way he can.

 

The peaks of her nipples grace his chest. They might as well leave claw marks. “I’m gonna--I might not last much longer,” he whispers, shuddering. Maybe he should stop moving. Stop chasing this high.

 

But Betty renews her efforts, hips rocking in tandem with his and mouth so searing on his skin that he almost feels like she’s opened up steaming valves inside of him. Desire pours out. A push. And he comes, holding onto her hip and back to steady her, to keep her close amidst the violence of his finish.

 

Afterwards, they both twitch and sniff and shuffle into a hug, his dick softening inside of her.

 

“I’m so glad it was with you,” she mumbles sleepily.

 

Threading his fingers through her hair, he sighs deeply in content. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

 

\---

 

Alice quirks an unimpressed eyebrow at his beanie, suspenders, neat suit, and goofy grin. “Jughead? Would you mind wiping the drool off your face before I take the photo?”

 

“Gladly, Mrs. C.”

 

She doesn’t correct him on the _Mrs_. part, for which he’s grateful. But mostly he’s still over the moon about Betty’s dress. _Red_. Her smile. _Brilliant_. The way she’s fucking _glowing_. For _him_. _This_ , really. This thing she’s worked so hard for and brought them back together.

 

As they pose, Betty shifting with practiced ease for the most _flattering_ angles per her mother’s instructions, he asks, “My poem didn’t happen to influence your dress decision, did it, Princess?”

 

“Veronica thought it might be _poetic_ to step outside my comfort zone for this.” Her hand slides over his, both of them protecting her slender waist. The silk of her empire dress soaks up the warmth of her body underneath and he’s dying to get her pressed against him at the dance. Not for anything particularly salacious, just...it feels like it would be right, tonight. His princess swaying in a dance, his suspenders on his shoulders, and the two of them gazing into each other’s eyes, connected for hours on end. Part of him finds it adorably bizarre that he’s hoping he stays in this infatuated daze for weeks on end. As much as possible, really.

 

“Jug? Be a gentleman, all right?” FP pleads, glancing nervously at Alice.

 

Betty, ever a doll, wraps a hand on Jug’s forearm with syrupy sweetness on every syllable out of her mouth. “He always is, Mr. Jones.”

 

Although Alice looks dubious, their straight posture and general politeness don’t give her any reason to stop them. “Have fun. Be safe,” she insists as they close the door behind them to meet Kevin and Joaquin in the driveway.

 

The click of the handle feels like an announcement to their festivities. “Your chariot, Princess?”

 

“Thank you, my Prince.”

 

“I thought I was Stark?” Her skirts are so bountiful that he ends up helping her with the tail end of what she’s gathered as she slides in.

 

“Maybe you’re both.”

 

He misses the initial greetings and gushing as he scurries around to the other side, despite Betty motioning that she could slide over.

 

“Got me seated in the back with the riff-raff this time, eh Joaquin?” At Betty’s glare, he grins and puts his arm around her shoulders. “Best seat in the house, if you ask me.”

 

“You two are adorable. Offensively enamoured of one another, but adorable,” Kevin allows, his hand rubbing some part of Joaquin’s leg that Jughead doesn’t care to focus on when all of Betty’s shoulders are bare to explore at his fingertips.

 

They joke and chat the whole way there, and even once inside, things are better than he ever could’ve imagined for a dance. Betty’s quite the planner, and the Centennial is definitely a once-in-a-lifetime event with sparkling blue lights, photo booths, and the Pussycats onstage with a revamped setlist. There’s food and formalwear as far as the eye could see. They take photos, dance, people-watch, and embrace the celebration of the past building up to the present.

 

Betty’s already plotted out the most ideal snack breaks for him, knowing his metabolism tends to run on high.

 

“Always thinking of me,” he teases, squeezing her hand.

 

Since her dress doesn’t have pockets, he’s got her phone on him, and pulls it out for her when it buzzes.

 

**_HAL_ ** _: Wish you were here!_

 

Betty rolls her eyes at the selfie her father sent and shoves the phone right back at Jughead to silence and stuff it away for the night. Hal looks pretty much the same as what Jughead remembers of him, a little less straight-laced with his sporty Oakley sunglasses on, the world a speckled landscape under a vibrant hot air balloon.

 

“Aren’t we gonna send him a picture?”

 

“What, so he can have a photo of another event he’s managed to miss? It’s just as well he lives out his _once-in-a-lifetime opportunities_ and I live out mine.”

 

“Fine. One picture? For me? For posterity? The bedroom wall needs to be updated, Betts,” he teases, grinning as she begrudgingly wraps her arms around his waist to pose for the camera. A forced smile. “What’s with the expression? I’m not having any of that, Princess.” His lips sneak in just under her jaw for a kiss, her nose wrinkling as she laughs. “There we go. That’s the Betty I know.” They both jostle each other tighter and take a few more pictures, ignoring whatever stares and shade they’ll be thrown for a Serpent and the Student Council queen canoodling on the dance floor.

 

“Maybe you could send a pic with the title, ‘Zen and the Art of Relationship Maintenance.’”

 

“Gee, thanks. I’ll pass. I’m still absorbing it all, myself. I can’t believe that we’re here. It feels like the end of an era.”

 

As she surveys the mini empire, the infinite memories being made in the blue-tinted ballroom, he wonders if there will ever be enough words for the way she inspires him. “Or it’s just the beginning of one.” Surprised, she beams at him, making his heart swell even bigger in his chest, his fingers tingling with the pleasant buzz of having the privilege to rest on her. “You’re amazing, Betty Cooper.”

 

“Yeah?” she asks, glitter eyeshadow just accentuating the way her eyes sparkle and shine.

 

“This...you...all of it.”

 

_Amazing_.

 

Betty’s hands snake under his blazer to hold him close. “You’re pretty amazing, yourself, Jughead Jones.”

 

A familiar piano tune kicks in and both of them turn to the stage. Jughead’s lip curls in a smile. “You wanna do me the honors?”

 

“Sure.” Pretending to stretch and look around, she asks, “Who are we making jealous this time?”

 

“Everyone, Betts. Everyone.”

 

They spin out onto the floor, everything else a blur.

 

_~_ _And I'm gonna keep on lovin' you_

_'Cause it's the only thing I want to do_

_I don't want to sleep, I just want to keep on lovin' you~_

 

~~~

 

Her bare, swollen feet feel relief against the cool grass of the Twilight lot. “Juggie, this whole thing went better than I could’ve planned.”

 

“Us? Or the dance?” His eyebrow quirks at her, hand steady in hers between them even as she sways them both, still caught in a contented rhythm.

 

“Everything.”

 

“Well, speaking of plans,” he starts, gently pulling her hand until they’re facing one another. “I wanted to talk about college.”

 

“Mmhm.” Beyond sleepy and into an almost slap-happy state, Betty stares at the beautiful boy in front of her. Every freckle. Every eyelash. It’s like a little path all guiding her back to him, _Rebel Without a Cause_ flickering faintly in the distance. They’d seen it so often together that she almost fell asleep against his chest in the backseat of Joaquin’s car, prompting her bid for some fresh air and walking to wake her up so she could _really_ enjoy his commentary. The stroking of his hand against her neck practically made her purr. She wants to _sleep_ with him for a whole night, rest her head against his shoulder and nuzzle into the warmth of that place between dreams and reality. Maybe they can sneak through each other’s bedroom windows over the summer or finagle a “senior road trip.” She starts asking him about it when his hands close over either of her bare shoulders, forcing her to look up into his dreamy, fond expression.

 

“Betty. You’re so out of it. Maybe we should talk about this tomorrow.”

 

“No. _I don’t want to sleep_ , _I just want to keep on lovin’ you,”_ she sings softly, joking forward so she can wrap her arms around his waist.

 

Teeth poking out in a grin, he tilts their hips together and rubs his thumbs in circles.

 

She idly wonders how to get a foot rub situation going on because his hands are _amazing_. Everywhere. Her feet are probably a little dirty now from walking in the grass, as is her train, but not _terrible_. Maybe she could wash them somewhere first. She knows she doesn’t have to offer a rub-down as a trade, that she can just _ask_ , but she wants to wait for the right moment. Wants him to be happy and relaxed, too.

 

“That feels good,” she murmurs, eyes drifting closed.

 

“Stay with me, here, Betts. So...you’re going to Columbia.”

 

“Yes,” she grins, adrenaline pounding dully in her ears that he knows it. “Have you been asking about me?”

 

“I’m kind of _into_ you,” he teases, those fingers of his still smoothing all the nonexistent tension in her shoulders. “I know these things.”

 

“What else have your sources and stalking told you about me?”

 

The fact that they’re both smitten and have been for a while is such a huge source of comfort. As is his sideways smile that spreads his beautiful, sloped cheeks and lights up his midnight eyes.

 

“Well. You need me to buy you a new pair of shoes, or have your old ones bleached.” Betty smiles at the sentimentality, that he remembers it at all. “You’re smart and sweet and just so happen to be wildly in love with a little bit of a rebel.” She blink-smiles at him, affection oozing through her like molasses. “Not to say you aren’t a pathmaker in your own right.”

 

“Mmhm.” She grabs onto his shirt lapels, dragging him closer. “And what does this have to do with college?”

 

His gaze darts off, mouth twisting in a wry smile. “I was thinking, maybe once you settle in to Columbia, and I settle in to NYU, maybe I can buy you some shoes.”

 

“You want to buy me some shoes?”

 

“Well, I did take you to the ball. And your feet seem bare now, so…really, that’s my responsibility.” They both know full well that her dance shoes are tucked under Kevin’s seat, most likely witnessing all kinds of intimacies.

 

“So you want to be the boy who buys me shoes?”

 

“And maybe other things. Like a promise ring,” he clarifies, clearing his throat. “Maybe. If you wanted...like, once you settled in.”

 

“Juggie!” Tugging him down, Betty shifts her hands onto his face and kisses him with all the energy she can spare.

 

“You know…” he starts, eyes bright with humor and what she thinks is adoration. “We’ll need to find a new movie place.”

 

Biting her lip, Betty wrestles with herself before admitting, “I looked it up, and both of our campuses have movie nights on the lawn once a month. And there’s a diner a little closer to your campus with pretty good reviews that has triple-stacked burgers and milkshakes.”

 

Expression softening, Jughead brushes her cheeks with his thumbs, melting her nerves. “Do they also have ice cream sundaes?” She nods. “Then it’s a date.”

 

“Yeah,” she agrees, snuggling up to his tender smile. “It’s a date.”

 

~~fin~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all have been amazing. So thoughtful. So insightful. Of course I'm curious what you think, how you'd like to reflect on this journey from disgruntled neighbors to forever dates. How'd you like their psuedo-proposals? How do you imagine their future shopping and general life endeavors moving forward from here? What about the side characters' fav moments? Tags you'd add, humorous or otherwise? Scenes/passages that stood out altogether? Anyway, thank you again for your support, and a huge shoutout once more to people who supported this fic, ESPECIALLY the endless time, patience, and encouragement from its beta, jandjsalmon. Hope you love it, Alison! Nostalgia! Bughead! Love! Reflection! Yay!

**Author's Note:**

> Never-ending thanks to @jandjsalmon who is the fairy godmother and devoted beta to this fic. She is a gem of epic shiny, genius proportions and I love her. Comments are my lifeblood and what propels me to write so please let me know your thoughts! Fav passages? Wanna talk about the movie? Anything! You can also tumble with me @lovedinapastlife


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